Thursday's Child
by Questfan
Summary: Thursday's child has far to go. The sequel to Lost. Twisted plots and intrigue spell trouble for the Musketeers and others as d'Artagnan and Juliette find themselves on an impossibly long road home. His friends have no idea where to even start looking for them, when they both go missing. Featuring Mademoiselle Marie, who is now selling signed autograph cards.
1. Chapter 1

**This came about due to various requests for a return of Marie and Juliette. It can be read as a stand-alone story, but will make a whole lot more sense if you read "Lost" first. **

**Marie decided she wasn't happy with her previous agent, so I have managed to negotiate a deal with her and as her new agent, I get to keep a percentage of her appearance fees. Since we make nothing from this story, 27% of nothing is … um … nothing! She's a doll and doesn't really understand economics, but it got her to agree to come back for round two. I only have part of this written so we'll see how we go with updates.**

_Monday's child is fair of face,  
Tuesday's child is full of grace,  
Wednesday's child is full of woe,  
Thursday's child has far to go,  
Friday's child is loving and giving,  
Saturday's child works hard for a living,  
But the child who is born on the Sabbath day,  
Is lucky and happy and good and gay._

**Thursday's Child**

"He's here!" Juliette clambered down from the windowsill where she had been perched for the better part of an hour and ran for the front door. Odette smiled indulgently as she heard the child fling the door open and stand there, impatiently waiting for the object of her attention to make it to the door. The evening air held an extreme chill and she wondered if they could expect snow in the night.

"Louis!" The name had been bestowed during a time when he could not recall his real name, but even once he had remembered, d'Artagnan had said she could call him anything she liked. And she liked Louis. In her mind, Louis was a royal name and her friend deserved the very best. It had become something of a term of affection and even though her parents used his real name, it seemed that Louis had somehow stuck.

He grinned as he saw her, standing in the doorway and illuminated by the light behind her. The sight reminded him of another time she had looked like that. He thought then that he had imagined her as he almost passed out in an alleyway. Athos had described her once as his guardian angel and he could wholeheartedly agree with that assessment. She had undoubtedly saved him when he had been very lost.

As he climbed the steps towards the front door, Juliette launched herself off the landing and into his arms. It had somehow become her standard form of greeting every time he visited and he found it funny enough to allow it to continue. For Juliette, she simply trusted that he would always catch her. Albert had made a joke that he'd one day be carrying a grown adult across the step and then immediately tried to retract the comment, when he considered the unintended implication.

D'Artagnan felt a kiss brush against his cheek, followed quickly by the feel of soft lace rubbing against his jaw. Of course, Marie also had to bestow a kiss on her hero.

"What are you doing out here in the cold? You'll get sick."

"I was waiting for you! And _you_ aren't getting sick out here." Juliette looked at him as if the answer was obvious. He tickled her ribs and held on tightly as she squirmed in delight and giggled loudly. The sound had drawn attention and it wasn't long before he spotted Margaux heading his way.

"Come in out of that cold." She hustled them both inside and pulled the door closed behind them. She reached up to kiss his cheek as d'Artagnan ducked towards her.

"She has been waiting for you since she got out of bed this morning." A laugh shone in her eyes as she watched the young man with her daughter. It was clear Juliette was besotted and it seemed a fair guess to say the feeling was mutual. Of course, she may be biased, but she could completely understand how her daughter could capture anybody's heart.

"I'm sorry to keep Mademoiselle waiting, but the Captain most inconveniently expected me to be on duty today." The quirk of a smile turned into a laugh as he saw Juliette's face scrunch up.

"I helped make your supper," she announced, suddenly turning serious. "Odette let me stir the pudding."

"Well, I can't wait to sample it. Is anyone else sharing this feast or is it just for me?"

"It's for all of us, silly! As soon as Papa gets home."

Margaux had already directed them to the parlour and d'Artagnan was grateful for the roaring fire in the grate. Winter was beginning to make its presence felt very early and he expected the first snows any day now. He put Juliette down as he stood in front of the fire, removing his gloves and warming his hands.

By the time Albert arrived home, he could smell the delicious aroma of something he knew he had not tried before, as he could not quite place the ingredients. He smiled as he pushed the door closed. His wife and daughter had been seeking information on the culinary delights of Gascony and he decided that if smell was any measure, they had hit on a winner.

* * *

Athos pushed himself a little farther into the booth and tugged at his cloak. The warmth of the tavern had not yet counteracted the chill of the evening and his wine had not begun its work either. He looked across as Porthos arrived with steaming plates of something and Aramis handed him a chunk of bread.

"I wonder what our young friend is dining on at Chateau de Boulanger."

Athos smiled across the table. It seemed that d'Artagnan had been all but adopted into Albert's family, since the whole incident with their daughter. It was a positive ending to a saga that he had feared at the time, would turn out to be his worst nightmare.

"Nothing but the best for their daughter's betrothed." Aramis grinned at him as he thought about their running joke. It was clear to everyone that Juliette was enamored of his young friend and they each took turns in teasing him about it.

"She is only six!" had become his standard answer, along with an exasperated eye-roll. It had not stopped him from becoming a frequent guest in their home however. The fact she would soon turn seven only gave them fresh ammunition to hurl his way.

"I wondered if they were plannin' to adopt 'im," Porthos laughed heartily. "Of course, that may put a spoke in Juliette's plans, since she can't very well marry 'er brother!"

"Perhaps they could un-adopt him, when she is of age?" Aramis looked as if he was considering the idea before grinning back at them.

Athos raised his wine glass and smiled at his friends. "To our romantic young Gascon. Still breaking hearts all over Paris."

Aramis and Porthos raised their glasses in agreement before resuming their meal and calling for more wine.

* * *

The trio of guards huddled together in the alleyway and surrounded the man before them. He held up his hands in a feeble attempt to ward off their blows and he stumbled against the wall.

"It's simple really. If you had paid the money, you would have been protected from any of this. But you were _stupid_!" The last word was emphasised with a kick to the man's knee and he buckled under the onslaught.

"I can't afford it! There's barely enough to cover costs and I still need to feed my family something!"

"You can't feed your family at all …. if you are dead! Have you thought about that?"

"Please! I am trying … but you need to give me more time."

"Time! You've had all the time in the world. Now payment is overdue. When we come by tomorrow, you'd better have it, or that pretty little wife of yours is going to have a real bad day."

The sneer on his face made the man feel sick. He had no money to spare, but his wife was his heart and soul. As he felt himself shoved forward to the ground, he could not help but cry out. "Have mercy! Please!"

"Mercy costs money." The guards began to move away from him before one turned back. "We'll see you tomorrow."

The man stayed on his knees long after the three men left the alley. He looked up into the night sky and prayed the morning would not come. He had heard whispers of these men, but the people of his community were loath to share details. Now he knew why. Speaking up made you a target. Asking for help seemed out of the question since it was the King's own men preying on them. He was no expert on politics, but it seemed that with the death of the Cardinal, some of the Red Guard had stepped up to form their own group, wielding power that nobody could challenge. There had been several accidental deaths in recent weeks. A couple of families had disappeared into the night and never been heard from again. Perhaps they had escaped the threats. Perhaps something else had happened to them. The whispers continued and spread, but nobody knew how to make it stop.

* * *

D'Artagnan smiled as Juliette propped Marie up beside her in her chair. It seemed that Marie had been and had some hair patched into her head as the last time he'd seen her she was looking a little threadbare. It was no wonder, he reasoned, since she was in constant contact with her owner and her owner liked traipsing all over the local streets. A well-loved toy would eventually show signs of wear and tear.

"This is amazing. It reminds me of home." D'Artagnan held up another forkful of food before slipping it into his mouth.

"That was the idea. We've been looking at foods from Gascony and I was lucky enough to find a vendor in the market who is from there. She has been most helpful in giving me input."

Albert smiled at his wife's enthusiasm for her newest project. He had enjoyed sampling the various dishes she had been trying out and was more than happy to have her continue, if tonight's supper was anything to go by. He looked across at the young man seated beside him and was pleased to see he looked well. It had been almost seven months earlier that the same young man had arrived in his home, injured and unaware of his own name. He watched as Juliette chattered excitedly about something and he wondered again at the bond between the two. His daughter had always been gregarious and she attracted people to her, but in a world that did not always value either females or children, she had come up against a few issues along the way. He would give his right arm to protect her and he treasured her lively and inquisitive spirit. The fact her birth had been protracted and difficult meant it was likely she would be an only child. A fact that his wife had wept many secret and bitter tears over. It somehow made their daughter even more precious to both of them and the young man who clearly cherished her too, had won a place in their hearts.

"Albert?" Margaux looked towards her husband and wondered at the look on his face. Clearly she had asked him something and he had not responded.

"I'm sorry, my dear. My mind was elsewhere."

"So I gathered," she smiled at him.

"You asked me something?"

"Charles asked if we were going to see the Dauphin's parade? It will be the first time he is to be seen in public since his birth and Juliette would love to see him."

The royal child had only recently been christened and until that most solemn duty had been performed, he was sheltered in the palace, mainly to protect his immortal soul. It would not be spoken aloud, but it was considered that a child was vulnerable until he had been baptised. Now that the day had passed, it was time to celebrate the Dauphin and show him off to the people of Paris. It was the King's privilege to share his success at producing a male heir for the crown.

"Why of course! It has been a long time coming and we celebrate with the royal family. It is good for France." Albert raised his glass in salute before he took a sip of wine.

Juliette clapped her hands, excited to know that she would be taken to see the Dauphin as he was paraded through their city. She hugged Marie and smiled at d'Artagnan.

"Will you be protecting the Dauphin?"

"We won't know the royal detail until closer to the day. Maybe."

"If you aren't, can you come and watch with us?"

D'Artagnan grinned at her enthusiasm. He looked up at Margaux, who was smiling at him. "You would be very welcome, of course."

"Then I will let you know, once I know what the Captain has decided."

As d'Artagnan eventually made his way home through the darkened streets, he reflected on his good fortune on finding the baker's family. They had, quite literally, saved his life. There would never be any way he could thank them for their generosity and kindness to a complete stranger. The fact he had gained a family in the process seemed to be a blessing beyond anything he could imagine. It had been many years since he had been fussed over in the way Margaux and Juliette did. His mother had passed when he was young and never having a sibling had meant that he and his father were all that each other had. The loss of his father had hit him hard and in some measure, he had found that hole in his life filled by both Athos and the Captain, as they were both men he looked to as an example and for guidance. His brothers had filled the deep emotional void and somehow his life felt complete. It had changed in ways he could never have anticipated, but he knew he would not swap his life now for anything.

The evening's meal reminded him of his former life and he smiled slightly. The food was not quite what a true Gascon would have produced, but he was grateful for the effort and thoughtfulness involved and he had praised it highly anyway.

As he turned out of the local square and headed down a side alley he found his senses suddenly amped up a notch. Somebody was huddled on the ground in front of him. He glanced around warily and seeing nobody else nearby, he walked towards the figure. Assuming it was just a drunk, he figured the man at least needed a nudge to get out of the cold.

"Stay away from me!"

The man raised his arms in defense and d'Artagnan stopped in his tracks. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm a musketeer, not a thief."

"Same thing!" The figure scrambled to his feet and pushed himself away along the wall. "All of you! Think because you work for the King, you're untouchable!"

"Musketeers are subject to the same laws as everyone else."

"What about Red Guards then? Who brings them to justice?" The bitterness in the man's voice was obvious.

"If you have been subject to an injustice, you can always …"

"Just stay away from me, musketeer! The money's coming. I'll find it for you! Just leave my wife alone!"

D'Artagnan stood and watched as the man ran from the alleyway. He decided he would mention it to Treville in the morning, but for the moment, he pulled his cloak around himself and headed off towards the garrison.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for your interest in this new story. I got knocked a little sideways this week so sorry for the update being slower than I hoped for.**

**Chapter Two**

"He seemed fairly insistent."

Treville sat back in his chair and nodded slowly. D'Artagnan had reported early with information that he felt was important and Treville knew he had probably just confirmed a persistent, but unprovable rumour. It was not the first such report he had been given, but it was the first piece of information from a reliable source.

"Well, we know the Red Guards were basically left to their own devices for some time after the Cardinal's death and Rochefort had a difficult time bringing them into line under his command. There are a couple there who thought they would have been promoted instead, before he turned up."

"I wouldn't be surprised if he knew!" D'Artagnan clenched one hand into the other as he recalled the man's face when he ran from the alley, the night before.

"We have no proof that Rochefort knows anything. In fact, we have no proof there is even a problem with the guards and the locals." It didn't mean he didn't agree with the suggestion, but proof was sometimes a slippery thing.

"We also know that even under the Cardinal's control, his men were less than honourable in their dealings with others. And that leadership void certainly caused some of them to think they could do as they pleased. Or have you forgotten the Chatelet?"

Treville frowned as he tilted his head slightly.

D'Artagnan quickly held a hand up in apology as he realised what he had said. "I'm sorry, Captain. I meant no disrespect! It's just that … "

"It's just that you were on the receiving end of that rogue action. I have forgotten nothing."

D'Artagnan dropped his gaze to the floor, embarrassed at the accusation in his hasty words. It was Treville who had saved him from the Red Guards in the Chatelet, firstly by allowing Athos to stay behind overnight and secondly, by forcing the Governor to let them both go the next morning, when he was threatening to hang them for the death of a guard.

"I apologise. It just struck me that the man I met last night was not exaggerating his situation. I can't help but feel there is something going on that we should know about."

"I agree. It's not the first report of this issue that I have had. But I need to know a great deal more before I go accusing the King's guards of unlawful activities."

What he didn't state, but was understood anyway, was that Rochefort held great sway with the King and Treville was not held in the same esteem he once had been.

"Of course, Captain. I'll let you know if I find anything else."

As d'Artagnan descended the stairs from Treville's office, he was pleased to see Porthos and Athos in the courtyard below. As they waited for Aramis to arrive, d'Artagnan began to fill them in on his concerns. The Red Guards were up to something unsavoury and somehow the Musketeers had been lumped into the same pot by those affected. Somebody had sullied their reputation and the locals would never trust them enough to talk to them directly. Before he could suggest what he was thinking, Treville called for the men to muster and Aramis skidded into place beside his friends. His sheepish grin and shrug of his shoulders told them all they needed to know. He had obviously had a good night after he left the tavern and the morning cold had been an extra challenge to leaving a warm bed.

* * *

Albert was well into the early morning's trade before he noticed that something was wrong. The vendor who always set up his vegetable stall across the square from him was nowhere to be seen. The family business had been there for several years and Albert knew the husband and wife team very well. Their three children helped carry the produce to and from their stall each day. Even on the odd days where one of them was too sick to be there, the others were always around.

Albert finished stacking a supply of baguettes, fresh from the oven into a basket before hefting it onto a trestle. Customers wandered through the marketplace and after catching the waft of fresh bread, many of them headed his way. It was a while before the crowd thinned enough for him to pause again and he looked over to the vendor's closed stall. He scratched at the back of his neck and wondered what was so wrong that nobody had showed up to work for the day. It wasn't as if they could afford to miss a day's trade. Especially with the unseasonably early cold weather closing in, as produce supplies would dry up earlier than normal. Albert shook his head and went back to work. There was nothing he could do, but he hoped the man would be back in the morning.

* * *

The sun had barely filtered through the window, but she had been awake for some time. It was never a good idea to sleep past the time your prey slept and she had cultivated the habit of waking before the sun. Her dark hair spread out across his chest and she slowly ran a finger down the line of his bare ribs. The night before had been rather entertaining, as far as such things went. Of all the men she had seduced, this one was a step up on her usual conquest. Perhaps that was because she had spent the last month working on him and he no longer seemed worried that she would disappear on him. She allowed herself a small smile as she realised her finger had awoken the man sprawled underneath her. His fingers reached out and grasped at her hand before he shifted beneath her. She lifted her head and smiled her most seductive smile at him.

"You need to report for duty soon."

"We have time," he smirked at her as he pulled her towards him. He could not believe his luck that such a woman had taken an interest in him at all, let alone bringing him into her business interests. It definitely paid better than his meagre income as a Red Guard and working behind Rochefort's back gave a whole other level of job satisfaction that could not be measured. The cruel side to his nature did not seem to bother Milady in the slightest and he had quickly come to understand that she had her own dark side. It aroused an even greater passion in him when he considered how alike they were. Fortune had definitely smiled on him the day she bribed him to allow her entry to the palace. Of course, the view of her in her beautiful dress had been an added bonus, especially so when he was the one doing the removing of a similar dress.

* * *

The building was dark and smelled of animals and something else. Fear. The stench of fear clung to the walls and she could hear the sound of whimpers and sobbing in the darkness. The heavy chains around her wrists and ankles had cut deeply into the soft skin already and she felt the slow ooze of blood on her arm. The sleeve of her dress had soaked up some of it already and she lifted her arm to wipe away the tears forming on her face again. The shame of what had happened clung to her and she almost wanted to curl into the floor and die. Her husband could surely never look at her the same way again, once he knew what they had done to her.

It had happened so quickly and she had no hope of stopping them. Three men had appeared behind her and while one had wrapped an arm around her torso, another had grabbed for her son. Somehow he managed to wriggle free after biting the man on the arm and she had screamed at him to run. That had cost her a backhand across the face before another man grabbed hold of her legs. She had kicked and struggled, but was no match for three men. As they forced a rag into her mouth and dragged her from the street, she had half expected the next few minutes would be the end of her life. Her last conscious thought was relief that her son had escaped, before passing out in somebody's arms.

She had no idea of the passage of time, but it was clear that it was now dark outside. She dropped her head into her arms and felt her body shaking with fear.

* * *

As Robert skidded to a stop at his front door, he was already shouting for his father.

"Papa! Papa! Where are you?"

Jean heard his son's frantic shouting from the upper floor and stuck his head out the window. "I'm here! What's wrong?"

The fact his son had appeared without his mother answered the question for him. He had not been quick enough!

"Papa! They took Mama! Back there. She told me to run and I came for you!" The heaving breath told its own story and the boy stood in the street, trying desperately to hold back tears.

Jean was running for the stairs almost before he knew what he was doing. He called out to his daughters to stay put as he took the stairs two at a time. The only weapon he had was a dirk and he snatched at it from the kitchen on his way out of the house. Robert looked slightly shocked to see his father armed, but he pointed over his shoulder anyway.

"Down there! They took her that way."

Jean followed his son down several streets before Robert pulled up short. Tears streaked his face as he looked around. There was no sign his mother had even been there, let alone armed men.

"They were here. Papa, what would they want with her?"

Jean paced around the area, feeling like he was going to be sick. It was his fault. He had been too slow to find the money they demanded and now his wife would pay the price for his failure. He had tried to stall them by avoiding the marketplace for the day, but clearly his family had been watched. He hefted the dirk in his hand, as if looking for somebody to plunge it into. When he looked back at his son, he felt his stomach clench in fear and he rushed towards the boy. Robert almost stepped back at the frenzied look on his father's face, but allowed him to wrap his arms around his shoulders.

* * *

The ride back from the palace was like most other times. The four of them had completed the tasks Treville had sent them on for the day and it was time to report back and head for a hot meal.

Athos looked across to where d'Artagnan was riding silently beside him. It wasn't like his young friend to be so quiet unless something was troubling him. They had begun to discuss it prior to muster, but Treville had called them to attention and the moment had passed. The day had been busy with plans and preparations for the Dauphin's parade and Athos had his hands full trying to keep Aramis on track and acting as he should in his capacity as a musketeer.

"You began to share a concern with us this morning, but we did not get to finish the conversation. Perhaps now would be the time to continue it."

Aramis and Porthos both turned back in their saddles and waited. D'Artagnan looked as if he was not going to speak at first. When he did, it was not quite what any of them expected.

"Who would have the most to gain by discrediting the Red Guards _and _the Musketeers, simultaneously?"

"What do you mean?" Athos shifted slightly in the saddle as he considered the question. It was not unusual for the two groups to be pitted against each other and the bad blood had not gone away, even after the King's challenge had supposedly settled things. If anything, it had just created more animosity.

"Last night, I was on my way back to the garrison when I came across somebody who feared I was going to attack or rob him. I did nothing to make him think I would. When I assured him I was a musketeer and not a thief, he said it was the same thing." D'Artagnan looked at his friends as the comment registered with them.

"I know from Albert there have been rumours about Red Guards extorting money from businesses, although he doesn't know anyone personally affected and can't provide any proof. If the Musketeers are now being lumped in there as well, who would gain from that? I can't believe any of us would be involved in such a thing, so who would benefit from spreading that lie?"

The machinations of the court gave Athos a headache on the best of days. Politics and intrigue was the reason Treville had knocked back the King's request to lead the Red Guards. That decision had caused the Musketeers a world of grief, but Athos would not hold it against Treville. He completely understood the reasoning, if not totally agreeing with it. Surely it would have been better to have Treville there, in favour with the King, than Rochefort sniveling in his ear. Still, it was no use looking backwards.

"I have no idea. But we need to find out." The low growl in Athos voice betrayed his anger at the idea that anybody would besmirch his regiment in such a fashion.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you once again for your kind comments and thoughts. I'm afraid your fears and expectations are coming out this time. Frankly, I blame all of you, since I would never do anything mean to anybody!**

**Chapter Three**

Preparations and planning for the Dauphin's parade had increased in both expectations and frustration as the King kept changing his mind about what he wanted. The fact he had almost missed his son's christening seemed to have been forgotten as he lectured Treville on what he expected and how much he hoped the Musketeers did not disappoint him this time. It seemed that d'Artagnan's role in returning him in one piece had been pushed aside by his refusal to execute a pardoned man in the King's presence.

Treville stood with his hands firmly clamped behind his back in an effort to control his frustration. It was the third time the King had changed the proposed route through the city and each time he did so, required a whole new reconnaissance plan for possible dangers. His men had spent countless hours scouring the streets for vantage points and blind spots where the royal contingent could be at any kind of risk. Rochefort had appeared to be helpful, but in reality it was Treville's men doing the work while Rochefort took the credit from the King.

It chafed at the Captain that the man had so ingratiated himself with the King and there were days when he almost regretted his choice to refuse the King's offer of power and position. He could not stomach court intrigue and knew that he had made the right choice. Unfortunately though, there were too many days when he was forced to face the result of that choice and feel the powerlessness that went with it. Each time his men bore the brunt of that choice, he found himself wondering.

He listened intently as the King wound up his latest travel route and he nodded in deference.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

The Queen smiled slightly in his direction and he nodded his head towards her. She had been more concerned with the timing of the parade and in keeping her infant son protected from the cold. It was not lost on him that a mother's heart was more concerned with such things than the pomp and circumstance, however she did not make the final choices.

Louis moved across the room to gaze out the window, shifting from one part of his grand plan to the next.

"Now, the gala afterwards will be out on the south lawn. You need to ensure you have your men out there. But they need to be discreet! I can't have them scaring my guests like last time, Treville."

Treville held himself in check as he knew what the King was referring to. Of course, the fact his men had averted a court scandal at the last royal gala was not known to the King and probably never would be. It was simply part of the expectations of their duty. He listened patiently as Louis outlined his plans further and he nodded in the appropriate places, while making mental checklists. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

She wasn't sure if she wanted the morning to come or not. If it came, she would be forced to face the horrors of the day before. If it did not come, she would be left wallowing in the dark fear that seemed to have enveloped her. The sound of other people around her, somewhere in the dark did not bring any kind of comfort. The sounds made her blood run cold. Somebody was in obvious pain as they moaned from some unknown injury. Someone else whimpered in fear and she knew exactly how they felt. She chewed on her lip and tried to stop her own sobs from rising from the pit of her stomach. As the first faint rays of light began to filter through the cracks in the wall, she could begin to make out shapes. By the time the sun had risen, the place they were sequestered in was still quite dark, but she could finally make out four other people. Each of them was chained, as she was, and each of them looked as terrified as she felt. One man, she recognised. He gasped as he looked towards her and she knew he recognised her too. She had seen him in the market square, plying his leatherwork.

Nobody seemed inclined to talk. Each of them were caught in their own misery and fear of what was coming next. Each of them had been dragged in on their own, not knowing that there were others suffering the same fate. To her mind, the fact there were so many others was not comforting in the slightest. It showed their captors were not afraid of being caught. That probably ruled out any hope of rescue.

"How long have you been here?" The whispered question carried across the space, but she had no idea it was being directed at her until the leatherworker nodded at her.

Her lips felt dry and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She sucked at her lip and then ran her tongue over her bottom lip before speaking.

"Last night. I think. I passed out at one point."

The man looked at the floor at that last part. He had already seen what had been done to one of the other women and decided it was probably a blessing in disguise for her to have passed out. He would not add to her misery by voicing that thought.

"Does anybody know you were taken? Did anybody see them?"

"The Red Guards? Yes, my son was with me, but he got away." Tears burned in her eyes as she considered what her son may have witnessed if she had not told him to run. The idea he could be chained to a wall somewhere made her feel physically ill and she clutched at her stomach.

"Are you injured?" The concern was clear, even when the face was still hidden in semi-shadow.

"No! It's just … it … I… what of you? How long have you all been here?"

The leatherworker frowned at her words, knowing that she was keeping something back. "Last night, I was attacked in the alley behind the tavern. I was unconscious when they brought me here and I awoke during the night. I have been trying to remove these shackles without success." The frustration in his voice was clear and she lifted her own hands in despair.

"They are too tight. What of the others?"

Before anybody could answer, a side door began to slide open and a waft of dust lifted into the air. In the early morning light it was difficult to see until two men approached with a basket and a bucket. They dropped the bucket in the middle of the floor and water sloshed over the edge. At the sound, she suddenly noted how very thirsty she was. The basket was similarly dropped on the floor and a couple of small loaves of bread rolled out.

"Enjoy your breakfast." The man smirked at them, before tugging at his partner's sleeve and heading back out the door. He did not pull the door closed and the various prisoners made use of the light to look around at their surroundings. Hunger and thirst took over and each of them crawled towards the meagre offering on the floor. Chains clanked as an evil reminder that they were all restricted.

As the woman crawled forward she noted a child of eleven or twelve was chained across from her and she gasped in surprise. Another two women were also trapped and then of course, the leatherworker was chained next to her. As she reached for a crust of stale bread, she scooped a handful of water from the bucket. The rest of them began to shuffle forward and soon the entire group was camped around the bucket. It struck her as incredibly inhumane to be treated worse than animals, but then as memories of the night before flooded back, she remembered she wasn't dealing with humane people. They had been taken prisoners by monsters.

"What do they want with us?" One of the other women looked across at them since they were the newest and could perhaps shed some light on things.

"My husband was threatened by musketeers. They demanded money we didn't have! He tried to protect me by staying away from our market stall, but I guess they followed us and knew where we lived." The words trailed away as she considered the implication of that. Her children were not safe!

"I have no family. They simply told me I would pay protection money or lose my stall. But it wasn't the Musketeers. It was Red Guards!"

"It was Red Guards who attacked me." The woman who had not spoken yet, finally put in a comment. "Musketeers would not do this."

"Well my husband said he saw their insignia on one. He was quite certain."

"What of you, lad? What happened to you?"

The boy stared blankly at him.

The leatherworker gently tried again. "My name is Yves. What is your name, lad?"

The boy blinked at him, as if trying to decide if the situation in front of him was real or a dream. "I am Corbyn."

"Corbyn, are you injured at all?"

When the boy stared back at him, Yves tried again. "Corbyn, have they hurt you at all?"

Corbyn finally shook his head, as if still slightly dazed. Yves was concerned he had been knocked around somehow and was perhaps unaware of a head injury. Either that or the terror of his experience had left him in such a state. He looked back to the woman to his left.

"I've seen you in the market. You have a vegetable stall, do you not?"

"Yes. I'm Chantal."

"Well isn't this very sweet. Getting to know each other." The sarcasm was clear in the voice, even before any of them got a look at the face. The woman who approached them was dressed well, as if she were perhaps the wife of a successful merchant. The cut of her clothes was simple, but the fabric was quality. Chantal watched as she swooped across the space towards them and felt the bile rising up her throat. To have men do to them what had been done was vile enough. To see a woman involved, made her insides want to revolt.

The woman stepped closer to her and Chantal noted a silk choker around her neck, with a jewel hanging from it. Whoever she was, the woman had some money behind her.

"What do you want with us?" Yves demanded to know. The woman slid closer to him before slowly leaning down in his face. His eyes were level with her cleavage and he had to force himself to look away. It was instantly clear how she held sway over the men involved, assuming that money was also involved. She traced a finger down the side of his face and he pulled back from her. The smile that slid across her face made him feel sick.

"Trust me, you don't want this little one to know."

Corbyn shrank back from her as she slowly turned towards him. She reached out a hand and lifted his chin, turning his face back and forth. "Stand up, boy!"

Fear was written all over his face as he struggled to comply. The woman walked behind him and seemed to be sizing him up somehow.

"Leave him be! He's just a child!" Yves stood to his feet and pulled at the chain that held him. He was stunned at how quickly the woman spun towards him, a small dagger pointing towards him.

"You are not in control here. I am. Nobody knows you are here. Don't underestimate me because I am a woman. I can and will use this to slit your throat! Or his." The last words were accompanied by a sickening smile and Yves found himself flinching at her venom. What kind of woman threatened to slit a child's throat? He stood and stared after her as she walked for the door. The guard who had brought in the bucket and basket crossed the floor to retrieve them before following her outside. As the door slammed closed, the cloud of dust took several minutes to settle. By the time it did, Chantal felt hope slipping away. As the day slowly turned into evening again, she felt herself sliding into a darkness that threatened to swallow her whole. Nobody was coming. Nobody knew where they were.

* * *

Albert pulled the shutters down and stacked the last of his baskets against the wall. The chill of the night air was seeping in under the door and he pulled his cloak about his shoulders before heading home for the night. As he pulled the latch down and stepped back, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Assuming it was a fellow vendor, he turned to speak and was stunned to see a sword being pointed towards him. The guard with his hand outstretched tightened his grip while the other one waved the sword closer.

"What do you want?" he demanded.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you as always for your kind reviews and messages. Apparently Marie is getting kitted out with her own leather armour and sword, thanks to a reader. I'm thinking she may need it soon!**

**Chapter Four**

"What are you doing here? Stealing from an honest family business?"

The guard glared at him and Albert shook his head in disbelief. "No! This is _my _bakery! I was just closing up for the night."

The second guard looked skeptical as he listened. "How do we know that's true? We could have just caught you in the act and now you are covering."

Albert slowly held out his hands in front of him. "I have stolen nothing. I can prove this is my business. Ask me about the layout inside and then see for yourself if I am lying."

The two guards looked at each other. The one with the sword slowly lowered it as he nodded towards the shutters. "What's behind that?"

"A wooden bench. Some baskets stacked together. On the far side is my bowls, rollers and other tools. On the left is the oven. A stack of wood is behind it."

One of the guards moved inside and looked around and moved around slowly. It was dark within the bakery, but the faint glow of coals that had been banked for the morning gave him enough light to see that Albert's description matched what he was seeing. As he walked back out, he nodded at the other guard.

Albert felt the tension had still not dissipated and he frowned. The one who appeared to be in charge, walked towards him. "You need to understand, we have been receiving reports of citizens being subjected to extortion demands under the guise of protection. We have been investigating and thought you may have been doing something to this business."

Abert swallowed slowly as he looked between the two men. Something about their demeanor unsettled him, but he nodded slowly. "You can't be too careful, I suppose."

"Exactly. Now I don't suppose you've heard anything of anybody around here having any such problems?"

"No! No. Nothing that I can think of."

"No businesses that have suddenly packed up and gone? Vendors going missing? Supplies mysteriously disappearing or being ruined?"

The other guard shifted on his feet. "Any family members getting strange injuries?"

Albert felt his stomach doing flips as the two men spoke. Their words spoke of concern, but their tone spoke of threats.

"Nothing at all like that. Now, if we are done, I need to be getting home. I have an early start in the morning."

"Of course. Sorry to keep you from your … family. You'll be sure to let us know if there is anything of concern that comes your way."

Albert nodded and turned to walk away. For some irrational reason, he walked in the opposite way from his home. The hair on the back of his neck felt like it was on fire as he walked away from the two men. The memory that the vegetable vendor's family had not opened for trade suddenly took on a whole more sinister feeling to it.

The Red Guards watched the baker walk away from them and they slapped each other on the arm. "Primed and ready. Just enough fear to get him worrying and soften him up for the next stage."

"Hmmm, this bakery has done well over the years. It should be ripe for the pickings."

As the two of them strolled off in search of a tavern, Albert stood tucked into the shadows and watched them leave, before heading back towards his home and his family. His stomach churned at the idea that anybody, let alone the King's men could be capable of such things. And yet, he knew his world was not a safe one and money and power could turn a man's head very easily.

* * *

D'Artagnan stared at the map that Treville had laid out before them. It was longer than any of them had expected and it would spread the Musketeers too thin for their liking. Treville had tried to explain that already and the King had made some snide remark about using Red Guards instead. Rochefort had barely contained a smirk as he watched Treville's discomfort and the Captain had assured the King that his men could cover things.

As they stood and surveyed the parade route, it was obvious that a stationary guard was not going to be able to cover it. The men would be forced to overlap each other as the Royal carriage and entourage traversed the streets. Once the group had passed by, that detail would move forward and meet up with the next group ahead of the carriage. It would take well executed movements and the planning was critical.

Athos pointed to a narrow bend on the map. "We need Aramis here. On the roofline."

Aramis scanned the area and nodded in agreement. It was an obvious weak spot and he was surprised that Treville had allowed the Royal procession to travel that way. "We should be avoiding it all together," he muttered.

"We would be, if Rochefort had just kept his mouth shut!" The look that crossed Treville's face spoke volumes and they all knew he had been under great stress trying to keep the King within the bounds of reason while planning his parade.

"What would Rochefort have to gain by forcing the Royal carriage to go that way? It's madness." Athos stared at Treville, awaiting an answer while suspecting he knew it already.

When the Captain did not answer immediately, he shook his head in disgust. It was beginning to come across to both of them that Rochefort was quite all right with seeing the Musketeers looking less than their best. Each time the King chastised Treville, he seemed to simultaneously praise Rochefort. It had happened too many times to be simple co-incidence.

* * *

The morning of the Dauphin's parade dawned with a hint of snow on the air. Even though the Royal carriage would not depart from the palace until midday, the men of the garrison were up with the dawn, making the final preparations. Aramis sat at the bench with a line up of muskets and pistols. He double checked each one and then began to count out a store of musket balls and wicks. This was not the day to be found wanting when it came to ammunition. He pulled out a pouch and began pouring the lead balls into it.

"I pray that you do not need to fire any of those today."

"Me too, Captain."

Treville began to head for his office and Aramis observed him as he walked away. He looked as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. He knew the man had gone back and forth to the palace multiple times to ensure that all preparations had gone smoothly. It wasn't like the King would be forgiving if anything happened to his son.

His son.

Aramis hung his head and tried not to voice the words. The bitterness behind the thought made him want to shout with rage.

_I will lay down my life for him, if need be._

He had made that vow almost a year before and he still meant it. Nothing would stop him from protecting the Dauphin.

_His_ son.

He gathered the rest of his weapons and headed towards the stable. He knew he didn't need to leave for some time in order to get himself in position, but he was too restless to sit around alone. The others had already left for the palace and it felt strange to be the only one at the garrison. It struck him as a cruel kind of irony that because of his skills with a musket, he would be the one that was farthest from the Royal carriage. Perhaps it was the hand of God, denying him access to his son. Perhaps it was just fate at work. Whatever the case, he would be at the palace later in the day and hoped he would have a chance to get close then.

* * *

Athos sat astride his horse and waited at the gates for the carriage to draw up behind them. Treville had not managed to convince the King to alter the route in the last few days and it was all going ahead as planned. He looked across the open grass and could see the preparations going on for the gala that would happen there later in the day. Colourful tents and banners dotted the area and he could see an area that had been fenced off with guards on each corner. Fireworks were known to be volatile and unpredictable and nobody was allowed access into the area except for those who knew how to handle them. As much as he normally enjoyed the unusual spectacle, Athos was too concerned about the rest of the day to truly enjoy the anticipation.

He watched as Porthos rode towards him and he knew that meant the carriage was on its way. King Louis had insisted on an open carriage to show his son off to the world. While Athos understood the politics and goodwill such a gesture engendered in the people, he was also a soldier. That meant he saw threats at every turn and an open carriage was the most difficult to guard. It was one of the reasons Treville had assigned the three of them to travel with it. He wanted his most trusted men on the job.

Athos urged his horse forward, out into the open road outside the palace. Directly behind, the entire Royal family was ensconced in one carriage and he was not happy about it. The next hour was going to last an eternity.

* * *

Treville had watched as the garrison emptied of men. Serge and Jacques and a handful of civilians who provided services were all that was left by the time he rode out himself. His men had been stationed along the route, with strict instructions of how he wanted them to rotate along the way to cover the distance. He was confident they would do their job exceptionally, as they always did. He knew that Rochefort had given similar instructions to his men, but Treville simply did not have the same level of confidence in them as his own men.

As he rode towards the palace he felt the tension of a headache creeping up on him. It was not unusual for one to present itself when he had such a serious job on his hands, but lately they seemed to be far more common.

* * *

"This way, Papa!" Juliette tugged at her father's hand as she spotted a gap in the crowd. Albert smiled at her enthusiasm as he followed her. She had talked for days about seeing the Dauphin and could barely contain herself throughout the morning. By the time they slipped into the gap, Albert pushed Margaux in front of him so she could see before hoisting Juliette onto his shoulder. She gripped Marie tightly as she leaned out into the street, trying to see if anybody was coming. Red Guards made their way along the road, directing people to stay back behind some invisible, arbitrary line and he wondered if this was another excuse for them to throw their weight around. He had not seen any near his bakery for two days, but he was still unsettled by those who had been there. It had not sat well with him and he knew there was something that was very wrong in his neighbourhood. The vegetable vendor and his family had not returned and he felt sick with worry about what could have happened. The rumours were beginning to filter through about others going missing and family businesses being targeted. He decided he would go to the garrison and discuss it with the Musketeers' Captain. Just as soon as the Dauphin's parade was over and done with and they were available to see him.

It was perhaps an hour later that they heard the cheers coming from further up the road and once again Albert lifted his daughter up onto his shoulders. He smiled as he recognised Athos ahead of the carriage and then knew the moment Juliette had spotted d'Artagnan riding along beside it. She squirmed on his shoulder and began waving Marie madly in the air.

"Louis!"

Several people looked at her as though she were being impertinent, but Margaux looked up and smiled at her.

"Louis!"

D'Artagnan heard the cheers of the crowd as they rode along and his eyes kept scanning constantly for danger. On the far side of the carriage he could see Porthos doing the same. It felt both comforting and disconcerting that Athos was riding ahead of them. If anybody was to be targeted first, he was clearly it.

"Louis!"

He turned back towards the crowd on his left and almost burst out laughing. Albert was clearly having trouble holding onto his daughter as she wriggled on his shoulder. D'Artagnan managed to keep a straight face as she waved wildly at him. It wasn't until they were almost past that he allowed her a small smile and dip of his head in acknowledgement before turning back to scanning the crowd. He could see the Red Guards mingling amongst the people, as had been arranged. Every so often he noted the Musketeers. He knew they had horses tethered somewhere nearby in order to quickly move along the line of the crowd and overlap each other. As he scanned along the line nearest him he noted something strange. He swung back in his saddle to take another look, but the man had disappeared into the crowd.

He could have sworn he had never seen that musketeer before.


	5. Chapter 5

**I was watching Doctor Who reruns while writing this and Marc Warren played a character that could not be further from Rochefort if he tried. He's a fabulous actor playing a thoroughly obnoxious man! That said, I'd be more than happy for Athos to finish him off. Or anybody else for that matter.**

**Chapter Five**

Athos felt the tremor run the length of his arm and he forced himself to relax his grip a little. The tension of the day was unrelenting and he knew he could ill-afford to let his guard down. He turned in the saddle and watched as the Queen cradled her son in her arms while still trying to allow the crowds to see their beloved infant Dauphin. The chill in the air meant he was bundled in layers of cloth and his eyes were closed in peaceful sleep. At least one person was not stressed about the day, Athos mused to himself. He watched as Louis grinned like a boy and waved to his subjects. It was moments like this that the charm of the man showed through and the crowd responded to it. For a moment, they got to put aside the concerns of life and participate in a spectacle that lifted then all out of the ordinary. It had been such a long time coming that many had thought it never would. The safe birth of the heir to the throne had given them all cause for hope. The times of Maria de Medici were not that far behind them that many had forgotten the instability and fighting that had tarnished the country. Athos shook his head slightly and looked away as he considered the truth of the heir's parentage. For the sake of France, the boy was the King's son and nobody would ever know any different. So long as Aramis could keep himself in check!

Athos glanced to the rooftops in search of his wayward friend. He was long past the point of being angry at Aramis' complete lapse in judgement. In a strange kind of way, his actions had helped bring stability to the nation, with the birth of the Dauphin. The place of the Queen was more secure than it had been, although Milady still rankled at his soul that she had wormed her way in with the King. Their open affair caused him just as much grief as he knew it must bring to the Queen, albeit for very different reasons.

As he scanned the roofline for any sign of Aramis, he felt confident he would not see him at all. The crowds continued to cheer and wave as they rode past and Athos knew they were approaching the point of the parade they had been most concerned about. It was a narrowing of the streets that made it difficult to ride alongside the carriage as expected. It was the most vulnerable point of the entire route and the one they had agonised over the most. He turned back to note d'Artagnan on one side, farther back and Porthos over on the far side of the carriage. More men rode behind and Treville was riding back and forth, keeping watch between them. As Athos turned back to the crowd, he caught a glimpse of blue that was out of place. A lone musketeer stood half way back in the crowd. That was not in Treville's plan!

* * *

Aramis shifted slightly against the roofline and flexed his hand. It was a fine line between laying in wait where he could not be seen and letting his limbs go numb from lack of movement. As he felt the blood thump back through his fingertips, he slowly curled them back around the musket. He didn't need to look to feel assured that there were several more weapons lined up behind him for use. He reached out with his other hand and lifted his crucifix to his lips. The woman who had gifted it to him was just coming into view. He moved his hand away from the trigger and sighted down the barrel of the musket towards her. As he squinted one eye closed, he saw her shift in her seat and lift her son, _their_ son and give the crowd a better view. For a fleeting moment, raw jealousy burned in his gut that King Louis was sitting beside her, taking the crowd's adulation as the child's father. He squashed it down and focused on what he needed to be doing. This was not the time to let emotion get in the way and distract him. He would never forgive himself if a lapse in concentration left his son vulnerable or exposed to danger.

He scanned across the crowd and saw a sea of waving arms. Suddenly something caught his attention and he turned back. There was a lone musketeer in the crowd ahead of the Royal carriage. The reason he stood out was that he was motionless against the rest of the crowd. That was not the plan! Treville had been explicit in his instructions and was so concerned that all go to plan that he had drilled them all over and over. So who was the fool who had gotten it wrong? He leaned forward and tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Something in his gut made him want to stand up and shout a warning.

* * *

D'Artagnan and Porthos scanned the crowd on their respective sides of the carriages, each on high alert for any sign of trouble. They were three quarters of the way along the route with no issues so far, other than overly enthusiastic people wanting to see their Dauphin and moving too close to the carriage. The Musketeers had moved them back each time by riding between them and the carriage. The noise had not abated since they had first begun the trip and the King seemed delighted by the public response. As they neared the narrowing stretch of road, both men were on high alert. Each knew that Aramis was hidden in the rooftop above, along with three other snipers along the route. As d'Artagnan glanced up, scanning the roofline, he felt a growing sense of unease. Memories of another day where a rooftop sniper had almost ended his life began to filter in and he had to shake his head to clear it. He found himself raising a hand to his forehead without even thinking and his fingers touched the faint groove that scarred his temple. It had been a close call and he shuddered at the thought.

He forced himself to focus and he looked back into the crowd once again. Suddenly something caught his eye and he leaned forward in the saddle. The man he had seen earlier was back again. He stared at the face, hidden beneath the shadow of a hat and knew that he did not know it. Somebody was dressed as a musketeer and that could only spell trouble.

* * *

Aramis felt himself wavering as he knew something was very wrong. There should not have been any musketeers in the crowd. Given recent events where both Treville and d'Artagnan seemed to think that somebody had been causing trouble while posing as musketeers, he felt his sense of alarm rising rapidly. The noise of the crowd meant he could not shout a warning that anybody would hear. Even a musket firing would probably not do it. He did not have time to run down and do anything and besides, that could be construed as deserting his post. He kept watch on the man in the crowd, carefully noting his position at all times. As soon as the man began to step forward he knew he had no other choice.

The crowd surged forward as the carriage rolled closer and Aramis rose to his feet. He felt his heart thundering in his chest and he willed his hands to stay steady. The man was surrounded by too many people for him to risk firing into the crowd. He would not take out an innocent if he did not have to. Instead he aimed towards Athos and his horse before inching to the left.

Athos saw the impact of the musket ball against the cobblestones and he felt his horse dance sideways. His instincts told him the shot had come from above and there was only one person who should have been on the roof ahead of him. He looked up to the roofline and saw Aramis waving wildly to his right. The warning shot pulled him up quickly and he turned to the guards driving the carriage. Both men looked at him with concern, but before he could say anything, he saw d'Artagnan leap from his horse and charge into the crowd. Whoever had been there moments before, dressed as a musketeer, was now disappearing into the sea of people. Treville was only seconds behind him and Athos could see that the majority of the crowd had no idea anything was amiss.

He turned back towards the King and could see he had already caught his attention. The man shook his head and the angry glint of his eye conveyed all that Athos needed to know to make his decision. The parade was _not_ to be interrupted and given recent events, it was clear that the King would not take kindly to anybody stealing his moment of public adoration and glory. Porthos had already pulled his horse around into the gap left by d'Artagnan and had deftly snagged his horse's reins. Athos pulled alongside Treville's horse and reached for its reins as well. A glance and a nod towards Porthos kept the parade moving forward again. The two guards on the carriage looked hesitant, but Athos nodded at them and nudged his horse forward again. He just hoped that d'Artagnan caught up with the stranger and got to the bottom of whatever he was up to. If there was a further threat to any of the Royal family, either along the parade route or at the gala afterwards, they needed to know and he was their only link so far.

Aramis stood on the edge of the roof and watched as the carriage began to roll forward again. His heart seemed to be stuck in his chest as his eyes could not move from where his son lay nestled against the Queen's shoulder. She seemed to have wrapped him a little closer and even though he was not close enough to see, he could imagine the tension in her face. She may have forced a smile for the crowd, but her body language told another story. He held his musket across his forearm and tried to see where d'Artagnan had disappeared to.

* * *

Treville charged into the crowd and followed where d'Artagnan had chased off the false musketeer. He had been forced to push his way roughly through the crowd as people seemed unaware of what was happening. In the back of his mind, he supposed it made sense. After all, why would a musketeer feel any kind of threat from a fellow musketeer? And why should the public feel any concern at a musketeer in their midst?

D'Artagnan saw the blue cape ahead of him and he chased after it, knowing the wearer probably held answers to their myriad questions. He felt a momentary alarm that the Captain may question his decision to give chase and that he could be reprimanded for leaving his post. If anything happened to the Dauphin, he could be executed for dereliction of duty. The random thought barely had time to take hold, before he shoved it aside and kept running. Somewhere behind him, he could hear somebody chasing after them. He turned to look over his shoulder while still running and was relieved to see it was Treville.

The man turned a corner ahead of them and d'Artagnan skirted the edge of the wall to follow him. He skidded to a halt as he rounded into the alleyway when a pistol was aimed in his face. Ahead of him, the man had pulled his hat lower to conceal his identity, but the pistol was as clear as day. He heard boots pounding on cobblestones behind him and stepped backwards to try and block Treville from running into the line of fire. He felt the man brush against his shoulder as he was forced to shift direction mid-stride. Treville almost collided with the wall of the narrow alleyway before stopping dead in his tracks.

"Stop!" He held a hand in the air as he grasped at the hilt of his sword.

The man backed away slowly while still aiming the pistol towards them. His hand shook as he took aim. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I don't …. you have to understand …. they have my son!"

D'Artagnan watched in horror as the scene before him seemed to slow to a crawl. The man took aim at Treville and before he could react, he heard the distinctive crack as the pistol fired. The force of the shot threw him back into the wall and it took a moment for him to register the burning pain in his shoulder. D'Artagnan turned towards him, but the older man shouted at him as he pushed himself off the wall.

"Don't let him get away!"

The split second of indecision had him turning in both directions. Blood was spreading rapidly down the Captain's arm as he clutched at the wound. It oozed out between his fingers and he swayed on his feet, before sagging back against the wall.

"Go! I'm fine. We have to know who he is."

D'Artagnan nodded as he turned and sprinted down the alley after their fake musketeer. His heart pounded with adrenaline as he left the Captain behind, praying desperately the man would live long enough to shout at him again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you so much for your continued interest in this story. FFNet had another one of its spackos and I could not reply to some reviews personally. Thank you anyway for your time and comments.**

**Chapter Six**

Athos clenched his fists around the reins and tried to hold himself in check. Another day where he had ridden point on a mission kept rising up unbidden and his thoughts kept convicting him. He had failed miserably that day. He barely managed to keep himself from turning back to see where d'Artagnan had run off to. The memory of seeing the young man wounded and bleeding and being pushed to his apparent death sucked the very breath out of his chest. He fought against it and forced himself to continue forward. D'Artagnan had not died. He had come back to them. He would do the same thing again today and they would complete this mission. Athos felt the resolve of his decision fighting against the fear of his memories and he closed his eyes to force out the images.

He looked up as they rode past the point where Aramis was stationed. He knew the plan from this point was for Aramis to join them along the route. His horse was tethered below him and it should only be minutes before he appeared, assuming things went to plan. Athos tugged at Treville's horse and led it into the next bend in the road. He scanned the crowd that still waved and cheered as they moved along. It was not far to reach the palace now, but the distance seemed like unending miles.

* * *

Treville pushed his hand against his shoulder and tried desperately to stem the bleeding. The weight of his hand against the wound made his head swim and he was only standing on his feet by sheer force of will. He did not have the luxury of falling down now; not while his men still had a job to do and his duty was still unfinished.

The cheers of the crowd were fading and he guessed the Royal carriage was well past by now. It meant the people would begin to filter back towards their homes, now that the parade had passed by. He knew that he was in no shape to follow after d'Artagnan, but he needed to make contact with his men as quickly as possible. He looked down at the blood that still flowed freely between his fingers and he knew he needed to stop it before he keeled over.

As he slowly staggered along the alleyway, back the way he had come, he heard voices coming his way. A family appeared at the end of the alleyway and the father quickly stepped in front of his wife and children. Their chatter ceased immediately as they noted the bleeding man coming towards them.

"Help me," Treville reached out his free hand towards them and the father rushed towards him.

"What happened?"

"Doesn't matter. I need to stop the bleeding and get word to my men." Before he knew what was happening, the woman had unwound her head scarf and was reaching towards his shoulder.

"May I?" The concern in her eyes was clear and Treville nodded at her, while slightly shifting his hand. He grit his teeth as she tightly wrapped the scarf under his armpit and tied it off over the wound. The pain coursed through his shoulder as the pressure increased and he felt a steadying hand on his elbow.

"Musketeers …. I need to find one of them … tell them what's happened." The walls of the alley were moving and warping as he tried to focus on them and Treville knew he was on borrowed time. He needed to make them understand how urgent it was and he grasped at the man in front of him.

"Easy there. My son has already gone to get somebody. You need to sit down."

"No! I have to get back there." Treville waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the parade route and only then noticed that more people were coming his way. It appeared they were drawing quite a crowd. He tipped his head towards the family who had helped him and began to walk on unsteady feet. He felt the hand on his elbow move to wrap itself around his back and he nodded in gratitude. The steady thrum of pain down his shoulder and chest made it difficult to focus, but he forced himself to put one foot in front of the other.

Suddenly he looked up to see two of his men running towards him.

"Captain!"

The man beside him sucked in a sharp breath. He had no clue the man they had stopped to help was the Musketeers' Captain.

Treville stopped as the two skidded to a stop in front of him. "D'Artagnan went after him. He needs back up. Somebody … dressed as a musketeer. Never seen him before … said they had his son."

The words were coming out with great effort and both men could see their captain was fading rapidly.

"I'll go, you get him to the garrison." The two men nodded at each other as one of them took off at a run.

The man supporting Treville could feel him slipping sideways.

"We need to get him off his feet."

"I'm fine. Need to get back to the King."

Treville kept trying to move down the alleyway, but felt hands grasping at him.

"No, Captain, Athos has that under control. We need to take care of you."

* * *

D'Artagnan felt his lungs burning in his chest as he chased the man down yet another alleyway. The streets were unusually empty, given that so many people had gone to see the parade. He was thankful that he did not have to push his way through the usual crowd of people, but it also meant the man ahead of him had a clear run too. He also seemed to know the area as he ducked down side streets and squeezed into gaps that he clearly knew were there.

Thoughts of the amount of blood on Treville made his heart pound harder and served to push him on when his body wanted to quit. If the man died, he could not live with knowing that he had let the murderer get away. They may never catch him otherwise. He gulped in a breath of air and forced himself on.

Suddenly he realised they had run into a blind alley and the man before him looked around wildly, desperate to escape. He spun from side to side with the same pistol from before in his hand.

"Unless you have the ability to reload while running, I'm going to bet that is not loaded. Now give yourself up because we've got a lot of questions you need to answer!" D'Artagnan brandished his sword towards the man and took another step closer. Everything in him wanted to run him through, in vengeance for what he had done to Treville, but he needed those answers.

The man stood his ground and sighted down the pistol. As the musketeer advanced towards him, he felt his knees giving out. Finally the weapon dropped from his fingers and he held out both hands.

"Please, stop! I had no choice! They … they said they will kill him. I want my son back."

D'Artagnan stopped as he saw the look of sheer terror cross the man's face. He held his sword still pointed towards the man's chest, but he stopped advancing.

"Your son? You mentioned him before. Who has your son?"

The man blinked at him, as if weighing his words. "I can't trust you. You are all in this mess together!"

Something in the anguish behind the man's words, made his decision for him. Athos would have objected as his heart overruled his head, but he went ahead anyway. He lowered his sword, but did not sheath it.

"Your son. Who has your son?"

"Red guards! They took him and told me I would receive instructions on what to do next. I followed them! I saw them talking to a musketeer. You are all in this together!"

"I have no idea what you are talking about, but I can assure you, there is no love lost between red guards and musketeers. The fact you are dressed as a musketeer should tell you that whoever is at work here, can fake things."

The man's shoulders slumped in defeat as he considered the words and the truth behind them. He looked down at himself and shook his head. He suddenly tore at the blue cloak wrapped across his shoulders and flung it to the ground.

"My son! You have to help me find him."

* * *

Aramis stowed his weapons and quickly climbed atop his horse. He was wheeling it left before he even had his feet in the stirrups. He'd seen the man run from the parade and both d'Artagnan and Treville give chase. Clearly they had seen something of more concern than he had to leave the King's guard. He pushed his horse down a side street that he knew would connect him in front of the parade and he nudged it to a trot. The sounds of the crowd picked up again as he turned the last corner and he found himself having to pick his way through a throng of bodies. People grumbled and pushed at him until they saw the look on his face.

"Get out of my way! I must get through!"

It was clear he was not going to wait for them and people scrambled sideways out of the path of the horse's hooves. He finally emerged on the other side and saw Athos riding quickly towards him. He looked past his friend to the Royal carriage and noted with relief that the occupants seemed untouched. A brief flicker of a smile from the Queen was all he was afforded before she lifted her son for the crowds to see. The gesture was not lost on him, as it allowed him a glimpse of the Dauphin as well and a small measure of comfort to know he was safe and unharmed.

"Aramis, what did you see up there?"

As he turned his horse to ride in sync with Athos, Aramis scratched at his beard.

"I thought it was one of our men, until I realised he was alone, against Treville's express orders to pair up. He was still and focused and I thought I saw a pistol."

Athos nodded in confirmation. "Yes. We saw it too. But thank you for the warning shot."

Aramis noted the faint uplift of his mouth and smiled. "Any time."

It was another fifteen minutes before the gates of the palace came into view. Athos held himself upright in the saddle as the end of their journey loomed closer. He noted Porthos riding along on his right and he turned back to see where Aramis had dropped off to. The King seemed to have tired of waving and was sitting staring towards the palace gates. The Dauphin himself had apparently also had enough as he was getting restless in his mother's arms. The Queen stroked a finger against his cheek and tried to sooth him, but it was clear to them all that he getting hungry.

Athos nodded to the guards on either side of the gate and sighed with relief as they swept along the driveway that brought them to the palace. As he climbed down from his horse, he felt a little of the tension of the day easing as he had delivered his charges safely back home. Now they just needed to endure the gala planned to commence soon. At least it was on palace grounds where protection detail was far easier to control. It was also by invitation only and that made it easier to vet attendees, instead of the open crowds of Paris.

As Aramis and Porthos stepped up alongside him, Athos noted Rochefort appearing from the palace entry. The man glanced at him with a strange expression on his face that was so fleeting that Athos wondered if he had imagined it. There was no time to consider it any further as the King and Queen were escorted from their carriage and the Dauphin was carried off by Margaurite to be attended to by his wet nurse. Athos had not seen Treville or d'Artagnan since they had chased the stranger into the crowd and their absence sat uneasily with them all.

"Where is Treville?" The question thundered across the courtyard towards them. "The man is supposed to be in charge of this and he is nowhere to be seen!"

Athos hurried towards the King, his mind scrambling at how to explain what he did not know.

"Your Majesty, Captain Treville went to personally follow up on a security issue."

"An issue?" The tone of the Queen's question was neutral, but the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her fear. Her son had just been very publicly exposed for the first time and the pressure of the occasion was barely holding her in check. It would not do to be seen coming apart on the steps of the palace after her husband had experienced such success.

"Yes, Your Majesty. He was alerted to a possible issue and went to follow up on it personally. He would not leave it to anybody else."

"His devotion to his duty is admirable." Rochefort smiled as he spoke, but Athos could not hear any sincerity in the comment.

"Yes, well, have him report to me as soon as he returns!" The King turned and marched up the steps while the Queen trailed behind him.

"Anybody got any idea when that might be?" Porthos muttered.

Athos frowned as he turned back to gather the horses' reins. "I suggest we go and find him."


	7. Chapter 7

**I have no real idea of monetary values in a foreign currency, hundreds of years ago, so please forgive me if I'm off the mark and let me know if you have a better idea of the value.**

**Chapter Seven**

Albert pushed up the shutters of his bakery and propped the door open. It was going to be a different day than usual, given how late he was in opening, but as the market square began to fill up with people, he soon found himself serving a steady stream of buyers. He had been in early to stock the baskets with fresh bread, knowing that people would still expect their daily supply. It just meant that he had his day's worth of customers in a condensed timeframe and he was soon run off his feet. The young apprentice kept filling baskets with bread from behind the ovens and Albert was alone in the front of the bakery when the guards appeared. At first he just thought they were there to buy bread, but it soon became apparent that was the farthest thing from their minds.

"Business is brisk today." One of them prodded at a basket that was almost empty.

"Lots of money crossing that bench today. And every other day, I'm guessing."

Albert felt his stomach clench at the tone of the comments, but he forced himself to act as though nothing was wrong. "Can I help you, gentlemen? We have more stock coming shortly. My apprentice is just refilling it now."

"We aren't here for bread today." The man plastered on a smirk as he stepped closer to the bench.

"No. You see, no doubt by now you've heard that the vegetable vendor won't be returning to work."

Albert sucked in a breath as he watched the two vultures circling him. He prayed his apprentice stayed out of sight until they were gone.

"Hmmmm. Seems he … ignored us."

"Mmm. We told him what would happen. But some people just don't listen."

Albert looked between the two men, who were clearly enjoying themselves.

"You see, Albert … yes, we know your name. We know a lot about you. You have a lovely wife. And a beautiful little girl. She's quite the little charmer, isn't she?"

"You stay away from them!" Anger surged through his body and he found himself stepping forward involuntarily.

"Easy there, papa! We haven't touched them."

"Yet."

The smirk made Albert want to punch it right off the man's face.

"What do you want from me?" He grit his teeth and stared down the two men in front of him. He already knew what was coming, but could not believe it was actually happening.

"Oh, not much. Just a little of your spare coin. We know this bakery does a good trade. You can afford it."

"Mmm, course you can. Twenty livre a week sounds about right."

"What? Are you serious?"

"That's a bargain really. Keeping your family safe for the low price of twenty livre a week seems perfectly reasonable to me."

"Of course, keeping this place free from problems is an added bonus. You can't be too careful these days, what with thieves and pick-pockets …. and arsonists and … who knows what else?"

"You wouldn't! You can't!" Albert felt his whole body shaking with anger at the idea that he had to pay protection money to men who were employed by the King to keep order.

One of them stepped closer and smiled maliciously. "Oh, but we would. And we already have. That vegetable vendor's wife was a lot of fun. I wouldn't mind keeping her around. But that's not the plan. More's the pity."

Albert thought he was going to be ill as the man licked his lips. "Plan? What plan?"

The other one leaned across the bench and patted the side of Albert's face. "Oh, yes, my friend. The plan. You see, this is a whole lot bigger than just me and him. We have some powerful patronage and that means protection for us. And _we …_," he waved a finger between himself and the other guard, "are the protection … for _you!_ Of course, our protection only comes at the agreed price."

"I haven't agreed to anything! You have no right to do this!" Albert heard his voice rising in pitch as his mind processed the outrageous demand he was hearing.

The two men looked at each and sighed theatrically while shaking their heads slowly.

"Some of you really are a bit slow on the uptake. Why must you make things difficult when this can be a very smooth arrangement?"

Before Albert could respond, one of the guards grabbed his hand and pinned it to the bench, while brandishing a dagger just above his fingers. The other one pushed his way around behind the bench and reached into the coin pouch Albert had strapped to his waist. As he counted out the coins, he smiled at the discomfort on his victim's face.

"Hmmm, lucky for you it's been a good day's trade." The guard reached over and patted Albert on the side of the face again. "If you want those two pretty ladies of yours to stay nice and safe, we'll be seeing you, same time, next week."

The second guard slowly released Albert's hand as his accomplice joined him. He glared at them as they slowly backed out the door before strolling out across the market square. Albert swung a hand wildly and swiped a basket off the bench. As it clattered to the floor and bread scattered everywhere, he noted his young apprentice huddled behind the oven. The boy looked terrified and Albert slowly stepped towards him.

"You say nothing … to anybody! Understood?"

The boy nodded slowly, trying to hold back tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks.

"I will deal with them. I have friends who will help me deal with them!"

Albert reached out and pulled the boy into an embrace. He felt the tremor of fear under his hands as he grasped the boy's shoulders.

"All will be well. Don't worry."

If only he could believe his own words.

* * *

Athos quickly dismounted before his horse had even stopped completely. He felt, rather than saw, Aramis and Porthos beside him as he walked into a cluster of musketeers. The men had returned to the garrison, as per Treville's earlier instructions. For those who were expected to return to the palace for further duty, there was limited time to get some food before heading out again.

Before Athos could ask, Denier came running towards him. "We heard that Captain Treville and d'Artagnan followed a false musketeer into the crowd. Any idea who he was?"

The question meant that neither man had returned to the garrison and Athos felt his stomach clench in fear. He noted Porthos' steadying hand on his shoulder and immediately felt grateful for it. Aramis slipped a little closer and the unspoken support helped him stand when he wanted to climb back on his horse and bolt for the gate.

"They haven't returned yet?" The question was already answered in his mind, but he had to ask anyway.

Denier frowned at him. "No!"

As Athos began to formulate a plan of action, his train of thought was interrupted by a commotion at the gate. As he turned to see what was happening, he was shocked to see a man and a teenaged boy almost dragging Treville through the archway. The dark stain of blood on his cloak told him all he needed to know for the moment. Several more people trailed behind, but he had no interest in any of them. He was only seconds behind as Aramis raced to the Captain's side.

"Bring him inside." Aramis was already evaluating the man's condition before he even laid a hand on him. The pale, sweaty skin of his face and the pinched look of pain told him most of what he needed to know.

"You've been shot?" The question was almost rhetorical, but he was relieved to see Treville was still aware enough to nod at him. Dried blood caked the man's hand and even without pulling the cloak away, Aramis knew he had lost far too much blood to still be standing for much longer. Apart from anything else, he hoped to spare the man the embarrassment of falling down in front of his men. He issued orders as Treville was laid out on a bed in the nearest room. He began peeling back layers and was shocked to see the scarf tied around his shoulder was soaked through with blood.

"The ball is still in there. I need to remove it." It was obvious, but he wanted to gauge the man's mental alertness with his commentary as much as explain what he was about to do.

"Do what you have to do." The words came out through clenched teeth and Aramis could see the sheen of sweat across his captain's face. He nodded as he noted that Porthos had already been to fetch his supplies and somebody else was already bringing water and cloths. Porthos sat down on the far side of the bed and looked apologetically at Treville before reaching across to offer him a piece of cloth between his teeth. He nodded calmly while placing a hand on either side of his neck. He would have preferred to pin the man's arms, but there was limited space and he could not get near his shoulders.

Aramis sliced the blood-soaked shirt away, leaving the bandage in place until he was ready to go to work beneath it. He glanced around and noted that Athos was nowhere to be seen. He already knew where his friend was and why and he sucked in his bottom lip. Why had Treville come back and not d'Artagnan?

There was no time to think on the possibilities while his captain was bleeding out underneath his hands. Instead, he held the blade of the knife in the flame of a candle before slicing through the scarf and dropping it to the floor. Blood welled up as the pressure was released and he knew he was running on limited time. Porthos clamped down both hands as Aramis leaned a knee against his lower arm. He dug the tip of the knife into the wound and Treville bucked wildly against the assault. Aramis avoided eye contact as he continued to search for the lead ball, buried under the skin. Porthos held on grimly until finally the Captain's reserve ran out and he passed out under his hands.

"Thank goodness," Aramis muttered to himself. While it was not preferable for a patient to be unconscious, there were times when it certainly helped. He continued to dig and finally felt the scrape of the knife against something solid. Praying it was not bone, he wiggled the ball free until he held it in his hands. The blood that seeped from the wound was not unexpected, but it was still far too much blood for his liking. By the time he had cleaned and stitched the wound closed, he wondered if it had passed the point of no return. It was certainly going to be close.

Somebody had replaced the bowl of water while he was working and he looked down to see clean cloths as well. It seemed he had done this too many times and his needs were anticipated too well. He leaned forward and wiped the blood off his hands before taking another cloth, dipping it in the water and using it to wipe the sweat and grime from Treville's face. The taut lines of pain had eased a little, but not completely. Even in sleep, it was clear the pain ran deep. After cleaning off the dried blood around the wound, he slid the remains of his short out from under him and pulled a blanket across the man's body. He slowly sat back to survey his handiwork. Porthos still sat where he had been all along, although his hands had dropped away and he fiddled pointlessly with his own fingers.

"Will he be all right?" The words were low enough so that the others on the edge of the room could not hear, but Aramis looked up.

"He has to be."

It wasn't the answer Porthos was looking for.

It was clearly the best one he was going to get.


	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you so much for your continuing interest in this story and your kind comments.**

**Chapter Eight**

D'Artagnan initially prodded his prisoner forward, his hand blatantly resting on his sword, but quickly realised it was not necessary. The man seemed as if he was about to break completely and was definitely not putting up any kind of fight any more. If it had not been for the sickening memory of seeing Treville bleeding out, he knew that he may have felt sorry for the man. He could not contemplate what it would feel like for a father to have a child used as leverage, but he did know what it felt like to have somebody he loved being faced with impending death. He knew he would have given his own life to save Constance when Milady had threatened to kill her. As they trudged back towards the garrison, he noted the slump of the man's shoulders and felt a sliver of sympathy creeping in. It was not right for a parent to have to see their child used as bargaining chip. He glanced down at the blue cloak draped across his arm and felt sick that anybody could use the honour of the musketeers in such a despicable fashion.

By the time he turned into the garrison gate, he was surprised to see there were very few people about. Of course, he suddenly realised he had not been thinking about the guard detail that were all expected at the palace. The King's gala would be commencing very shortly, if it was not already underway. He looked around the yard and saw Serge hurrying towards him. The man frowned at the stranger by his side, but quickly pointed towards the barracks.

"Aramis is in there. With Treville. He's been waiting for you to show up." The urgency in his voice betrayed his concern.

D'Artagnan nodded in understanding at what had not been said. Treville was still alive and that was all he needed to know for the moment. He glanced across at his prisoner and debated what to do with him. Finally he decided that seeing the man he had almost murdered could be helpful in prodding information from him. If his story was genuine. If it wasn't, well then he'd deal with that possibility when he was forced to.

He headed towards the room Serge had pointed out and pushed the door open. As he stepped into the room, it was almost as if the atmosphere physically closed in around him. Aramis sat crouched over on a seat with his elbows resting on his knees and his chin cupped in his hands. Even before he saw his friend's face, d'Artagnan knew what he was going to get. Aramis looked up as the door opened and his face instantly lit up.

"Athos is going to breathe again," he grinned across the room before pushing himself up off the chair. He hurried across and began visually inspecting his young friend for injury.

D'Artagnan held up a hand to ward him off. "I'm fine, really!" he insisted. "But he's not, is he?" His voice dropped as he stepped closer to the bed. Aside from when Treville had taken on Labarge and come off second best, d'Artagnan had never seen his captain down. The sight before him made his stomach flip as he considered his own failings in the matter.

Aramis glanced at the stranger standing by the door before following d'Artagnan back across the room. The look of anguish on his brother's face made him reach out a steadying hand.

"He's lost a lot of blood. I got the ball out of his shoulder, but he hasn't woken up since."

They both turned at the sound of footsteps behind them and turned to see the man d'Artagnan had abandoned at the door.

"I'm sorry … he did not deserve this … I'm … "

Aramis rounded on the man and grasped his collar before d'Artagnan could react. His focus was still drawn to his captain's too-pale face, slicked with beads of sweat.

"You did this!" Aramis looked across at d'Artagnan in confusion. "What is he doing here? He should be locked up!"

The man stood where he was, trying to contain his own anguish at what he had done. If the musketeer who had hold of him wanted to exact his revenge, he could not really blame him. Suddenly something in him snapped to attention as he remembered the reason for his own actions.

"They took my son. I had no choice. Please … they still have my son!" Tears flowed freely down his face and Aramis slightly loosened his grip, while not actually releasing the man.

"What is he talking about?" He stared at the man in front of him, while clearly addressing d'Artagnan.

"Aramis, you need to hear him out. I don't have it all yet, but you need to hear what he has to say."

Aramis looked torn. His clenched fist was swinging at his side and he slowly released the man.

"Start talking." Two words, low and threatening.

"My name is René. Red Guards took my son and told me they would kill him if I did not do as they told me. Please! You have to believe me. I never wanted to hurt this man, but my son, he's only eleven."

"How did they come to target you?" Aramis watched as d'Artagnan stepped closer.

"They've been working us over for some time. But slowly. Quietly. There's been rumours and … and several unexplained things. People have disappeared. Market stalls have been vandalised. You have to believe me! The ones who came after me were talking with a musketeer. We were too afraid to report them." René hung his head in frustration. "We believed you were in on it together."

D'Artagnan held up the cloak in his hands and nodded towards Aramis. "It would certainly explain how he came to be dressed in this."

Aramis slowly released the man's collar and stepped back to survey him. The words rang true and a father's heart was laid bare. He frowned as he considered the implication. If red guards were behind the attack on Treville, had the orders come from Rochefort?

"Athos!"

D'Artagnan leaned forward at the alarmed tone and the sudden change of focus.

"What about him?"

Aramis waved towards René. "If what he says is true …"

"It is! Every word!" René broke in abruptly.

Aramis glared at the interruption. "_If_ what you say is true, Athos needs to know. He is at the palace … with Rochefort."

D'Artagnan did not disappoint him as he connected the lines of thought. His eyes widened in alarm and he stepped towards the door. He paused as if suddenly remembering René was a prisoner. Aramis pointed towards the door and nodded.

"Go! He needs to see you in one piece anyway and you can deliver the information in person. I will deal with things here."

"What do I tell him about the Captain?" Anxious eyes met his as he sucked in a deep breath.

"Tell him …" Aramis moved closer to the bed where the object of their conversation still had not moved. "Tell him, Treville is a hard man to take down."

René stared at the floor as d'Artagnan headed for the door. He waited for the young man to leave before he spoke.

"Will he live?"

Aramis glared at him before softening his face. He could not fault the man for trying to save his son.

"He will! He has no other choice."

* * *

Athos wanted to scream with rage. He had never enjoyed court life and the blathering nonsense that often accompanied it. The vacuous comments from vapid women made his head ache. Then there were the simpering idiots who called themselves men, while dressed in their finery and looking down their noses at the men who guarded them. Musketeers and red guards were nothing more than a necessity to be ignored when not required.

He looked across to where the King was laughing raucously at some courtier's joke with both men holding empty wine glasses. A servant carefully sidled in and offered a replacement glass. Both men snatched one off the tray, without acknowledging the girl and the man continued telling his story. Athos watched as the servant slipped around another group of people, offering refreshments. He clenched his hand around his other hand as he fought the desire to reach for one himself. The scent of the wine taunted his senses and he allowed his eyes to close for a moment.

A shrill laugh from across the room made him open his eyes again. It was nights like this he thanked God he had been released from his old life. Women who chased after position. Men who chased after money. Families that manipulated and plotted the best possible match for their children. There was no room for love in courtly match-making and events such as the King's gala were the perfect place for laying down future claims of love.

Love.

He felt a sick feeling rising through his chest.

What did he know of love?

He refused to look to the back of the room where he knew Milady was holding court herself. She was adept at surrounding herself with those who were useful to her. She was also brilliant at finding those she could apparently ingratiate herself with and appear useful to. Because he knew it was all about appearances and very little to do with truth. His wife did not know how to tell the truth. She manipulated and twisted things for her own ends. She certainly knew nothing of love.

The smells of dainty pastries and elegant hors d'oeuvres wafted past his nose as a servant wandered through the crowd with a large platter. Guests picked at the delicate offerings while consuming the King's best champagne. On another night, the smell may have made him hungry. On this night, his mind was too stressed to care for either food or drink. By the time he had left the garrison, Treville was already unconscious. There had been no option to do anything but take his Captain's place at the palace and keep the King from getting too angry.

Athos barely managed to conceal a sigh as he reluctantly recalled his return to the palace. He had tried to explain that his captain had been shot and the King had almost exploded. It was only the restraining comment of the Queen, reminding him that the man had lured away a potential assassin, that had calmed him down. Once again, Rochefort had barely masked a strange expression and Athos found himself wondering what the man knew about their fake musketeer.

Finally Louis had slipped in his rage and revealed a genuine concern for the welfare of his captain. The anger was born out of a very real fear that the man could die in his service and under other circumstances, Athos would have been happy to know Treville's star appeared to be on the rise again.

By the time he was dismissed, Athos felt that he had recovered the situation sufficiently and had also managed to restore some of the King's confidence towards his most loyal man. He just prayed that Treville would soon be in shape to be able to report to the King. His mind inevitably returned to the other great question of the night. Where was d'Artagnan?

He noted the royal ushers beginning to point guests towards the outer courtyard and he looked across the room to where Porthos was. Treville had laid out the plan days before and each man knew what was expected of him. The noise of the fireworks would be the most dangerous part of the evening as they could easily mask a lot of things. Athos was pleased the Dauphin was upstairs in his nursery with his governess and not out in the thick of the crowd. It seemed the child's presence was no longer required as the King had already had enough glory for his prowess in producing such a fine heir.

As Athos began to head for the outer door, his heart nearly burst from his chest. Coming through the ornate doors was the one face he had been unconsciously looking for all night. He had sent men after them, but when Treville arrived back at the garrison, severely wounded and there was no sign of the young man, he had feared the worst. Ugly memories from months earlier began to chew at his insides and he had been almost glad of the enforced duty to keep his mind from running amok. Not that it had really worked completely.

As d'Artagnan looked around the room, he finally made eye contact with Athos. The look on the man's face almost made him stop in his tracks. It would not do to break protocol in front of so many distinguished guests, but Athos managed a quick shoulder squeeze as they approached each other.

"You are late," he deadpanned.

"My apologies. I was a little delayed by apprehending the Captain's would-be assassin."

The answer gave Athos all the information he currently needed. Treville still lived and the false musketeer was under arrest. Further answers would have to wait until after the gala was done.

Before he could answer, the sound of fireworks bursting into the night sky cut off any further comment.


	9. Chapter 9

**This story seems to have so many angles to cover and my thoughts keep going off in all sorts of directions. Thank you once again for your continued interest and reviews. I remember seeing fireworks for the first time as a child and being simultaneously terrified and awestruck.**

**Chapter Nine**

The colours that exploded across the sky made Juliette simultaneously hold her breath in excitement and clamp hold of her mother's hand in fear. Something about the accompanying bangs seemed to ripple through the air and make her ears tingle. It was a sight she had never seen before and nothing had been able to prepare her for it. D'Artagnan had already told her that the King's gala would include fireworks, but never having seen them himself, he had struggled to explain it adequately as his information was secondhand. Margaux wrapped her arms a little tighter around her daughter as they watched the remnants of each explosion flitter away on the breeze. The beautiful images in the sky reflected their stunning colours across the water as they had chosen one of the river bridges as a vantage point.

Beside them, Albert seemed as though he was not really enjoying the spectacle. Margaux had noticed a tension in him when he arrived from the bakery and he had been quick to dismiss her questions. Too quick. She knew her husband and something was clearly wrong. She had suggested they forgo the fireworks, knowing that Juliette would have been devastated, but he had quickly knocked that idea on the head. The Dauphin's parade and gala was a once-in-a-lifetime event and he would not deny either of them that slice of the city's celebration. He knew that he could not have kept them all home without having to explain things to his wife and there was no way he was going to scare her with what had transpired.

Odette leaned against the bridge railing, totally absorbed in the sky above her head. For the time being, she was not an employee, rather she was another citizen of Paris sharing the miracle of the new heir to the crown. She had noted that for once in her life, Juliette appeared to be speechless. The idea was so funny that she had caught Marguax's eye several times and the two seemed to be thinking the same thing as they both smiled at the child between them. Each of them knew that the next day would a whole other story. Juliette could talk the hind leg off a donkey when she was interested in something and the incredible sight overhead most definitely had her enthralled.

By the time the final fireworks exploded in all their glory, the crowd roared in appreciation. Juliette clapped in excitement as she danced on the spot. Albert watched the innocence of his daughter's joy and he felt his breath hitch in his throat. As Margaux grasped her fingers and twirled the child under her arm, he felt his stomach clench into a knot. How could anybody have the audacity to threaten either of them? As God was his witness, he would not allow any harm come to either of them. As Odette laughed at his daughter's antics, he realised that he included her in his circle of protection. Another family had entrusted their daughter to his home and he considered her as part of his family. The three people in front of him were his world and he would die before he allowed any harm to come to them.

Margaux laughed as Juliette danced out her excitement, but she noted the strange look on her husband's face and her heart stuttered in her chest. Something was very wrong and he was trying to hide it from her. Given how open and trusting their relationship was, in spite of the restrictions of the society they lived in, the fact Albert was hiding something made her feel sick. He did not usually keep things from her so whatever it was must be terribly serious. As they began the trek home, she determined that she would get to the bottom of whatever was happening. Her husband needed her support and he would get it whether he wanted it or not.

Albert watched in terror as Juliette skipped ahead of them and danced around in circles. The images that would have made him laugh on any other day, made him want to run and scoop her up into his arms, where she was safe. As she ventured further down the street from him, he felt an irrational fear arise within him and make him look into every dark shadow and crevice in the walls ahead with suspicion and anxiety. If he gave into his fears and reacted, his wife would know something was wrong and he would not allow that. She could not know the threats that had been leveled against his family. Not until after they had been dealt with.

* * *

Aramis looked at the tray that Serge had carried in earlier. The food had long since gone cold and he felt a touch of guilt at knowing the man would return for it and see he had not touched it. It was not that he didn't feel hungry. It was more that he did not trust his stomach to behave itself at times like this. He had never admitted it to anybody, but in all the years he had been both an official and unofficial medic to those he cared for, he could not stomach seeing people suffer. Instinct and need overtook him while he worked to save a life or deal with an injury, but once he was done, the adrenaline would subside and leave him feeling drained. The last thing he wanted was food in his stomach. He did however, reach out for the cup of wine that Serge had brought in and he leaned back against the wall as he took a sip.

Treville was a hardened soldier and one of the toughest men he knew. Aramis counted himself fortunate to serve under such a man. The fact he was now so still and pale seemed even more alarming, given how he usually saw the man. He feared they had been too slow to stem the bleeding and remove the ball from his shoulder. If the worst should happen, he knew he would never forgive himself. As irrational as the blame was, and a small part of him acknowledged that, he could not shake it.

Without realising he had done it, Aramis had slipped the crucifix from inside his shirt and it slipped silently between his thumb and forefinger as he sipped at the wine. He had no idea how long he had sat in that position when he first heard a soft moan. The cup in his hand was empty and he quickly dropped it alongside his chair as he leaned forward.

"Captain. Can you hear me?" He hovered closer as the man began to show signs of waking up. Fine lines appeared across his brow as he frowned. Aramis watched as his eyes fluttered a few times before he finally managed to keep them open. The pain in his eyes was clear to the medic and he reached forward to pat at his arm.

"Welcome back," he smiled.

"Where did I go?" Treville groaned as he shifted slightly, before locking eyes with Aramis.

"Oh … nowhere important. How are you feeling?"

It was a question he already knew the answer to, but he needed the man to confirm it for him.

"Like I got trampled by a horse!"

Under other circumstance, Aramis would have laughed, but the words were too soft and too laced with pain to be funny. He nodded and reached for something on the table beside him. He slipped a hand under his captain's neck and lifted his head slightly to offer a cup to his lips.

"Drink this. It will help with the pain."

The pain draught was bitter and even though he was expecting that, Treville almost gagged on the liquid. He slumped back against the pillow as Aramis slid his hand out. After closing his eyes to steady himself, he finally forced himself to open them again.

"The King?"

Aramis could see the fear on his face and rushed to reassure him. "The King and his family are all safe. Athos has it all in hand." He debated telling the man that he was the target for the assassin, not the Royal family, but he was not sure if it would help or distress him further.

"We have the shooter in custody. D'Artagnan caught him and brought him back here."

Without asking, Aramis reached for a cloth and dipped it in a bowl of water before using it to wipe it across his captain's face. The hint of fever in his skin had him worried and he continued his ministrations in the hope of warding it off. Rest, medication and keeping the man cool would all help. He knew the biggest challenge he would face would be keeping him in bed. Especially as duty kicked in and Treville attempted to return to the King. As if on cue, Treville began to struggle to sit up and Aramis placed a gentle but firm hand on his chest.

"Not yet! You need to stay still for a while yet. You have lost a lot of blood and your body needs to rest."

The Captain glared at him, but Aramis did not remove his hand. "I told you, Athos has everything in hand. Trust him to do his job."

He felt Treville slowly relax against his hand and he finally eased back.

"I do trust him. But the King expects me to …"

"Athos has it covered." The words were almost an admonishment and Treville felt a smile curling at his lips. His men were well trained and capable. And apparently stubborn. He closed his eyes in defeat and allowed his body to relax slightly. The steady thrum of pain in his shoulder pulled his attention there and he opened his eyes again to see Aramis still watching him.

"My shoulder … how bad?"

Labarge had once left him wondering if he would ever wield a sword properly again, given he needed both arms for balance and agility and Aramis could see the same question written all over his face once again. He knew it was too early to tell, but hope was a great factor in a patient's healing. He schooled his face and hoped the pain draught had done its job well enough to cover anything he had let slip.

"The ball is out. It missed the bone and with _proper rest_ you will heal nicely."

Treville noted the tone and smiled at the implied command. "Yes, sir!" He muttered the response, but knew that Aramis had heard it by the upturn of his lips.

"If you expect me to lie here, I expect to be fully informed. Tell me of the shooter. What was his purpose behind the attack?"

Before Aramis could answer, the clear sound of fireworks began to echo through from outside. It caught both of them off guard.

"The gala is obviously going to plan if the fireworks have commenced."

Treville nodded in agreement before focusing again. "Do not think you can distract me that easily. The shooter. What was his plan?"

Aramis smiled at the words, knowing he could not slip much past his captain on a good day. Except this was not a good day. He felt the smile slip slightly as he debated how much to say, given the man's current state of health.

"We are still trying to get to the bottom of it, but we believe he was the victim of an extortionist. His son is being held captive and threatened with death."

Treville's eyes widened at the explanation and Aramis could see his thoughts ticking over. "His son's life will be forfeit since he did not get to the King."

When Aramis did not answer, he shifted against the pillow and groaned as pain radiated through his shoulder.

"Easy there." Aramis leaned over as beads of sweat once again dribbled down his forehead. He gently dabbed at his face again with a damp cloth and knew that despite that, Treville would not let it go.

"His son."

Aramis knew he should not have underestimated the man who had proven his worth many times over.

"We are trying to find out where he might be. But the King was not his target."

"What? The Queen … or … my God! The Dauphin?"

Aramis reached for his arm as it flailed in the air. His stomach lurched at the mental picture that flooded his vision. The idea that anybody could take aim at either of them made him physically ill.

"No! They are both safe."

The Captain frowned in confusion. He wondered if the pain draught was making him befuddled, but Aramis was not making any sense.

"Captain … the target was you." Aramis watched as the words sunk in and Treville sagged back against the pillow and frowned at him. His mouth opened as if he was going to speak, but nothing came out. Finally he seemed to gather his wits and tried again.

"Me? I don't understand. You said you had the shooter in custody. What was the reason he was sent after me?"

"He doesn't know. But we are working on it and we _will_ get to the bottom of it."

Aramis suddenly realised it had been some time since he had first heard the fireworks. Hopefully his friends would soon be on their way back from the palace and they would have something more useful to pass on. He tried to keep a neutral face as he considered what Athos would do to the man he had ordered to be chained in another room. For now, his priority was keeping his captain still and calm so he could prevent any further blood loss or aggravation to his injury. He knew how empty his words sounded to his own ears and he prayed that they would soon have real answers.

He sighed as he watched the pain draught finally do its work and Treville slowly slid back into an uneasy sleep. Knowing that somebody wanted the man dead made his blood boil. He forced his fists to unclench as he considered what to do next. In order to keep himself focused, he dipped the cloth in the water again and slowly wrung it out.

"They will not get another chance at you. I promise!"


	10. Chapter 10

**I think I have a new favourite episode! It seems that the scriptwriters like emotionally beating up poor Athos almost as much as I do :-)**

**Chapter Ten**

The church bells chimed the end of the third watch as the trio made their way past. It had been a very long day and each of them was looking forward to finding their beds. Assuming that Aramis was on top of things with Treville. If not, they'd be camped on the floor of his room. That was just a given and not something any of them had even bothered to discuss as they made their way home.

D'Artagnan noted the slump of Athos' shoulders as he rode ahead of him through the narrow alleyway. There were any number of things that could be the cause of his melancholy mood, but d'Artagnan was fairly sure he knew what was behind it. The sickening sight of Milady confidently making her way upstairs at the end of the fireworks display, while shooting Athos a callous smirk, made him sick. A part of him wished his friend had taken her life after all in the underpass, all those months ago. A larger part of him was glad that he had not. He knew that Athos was no longer bound to her as he showed clemency that day. If only she had simply followed his directive and left Paris. As they had all discovered, nothing about Milady was ever simple.

He lifted his head and stared at the stars overhead. Somewhere beyond that, lived a god who seemed to allow the strangest of things sometimes. The most honourable man he knew was torn to pieces over and over by the most dishonourable woman he had ever had the misfortune to meet. They had all anticipated that the fireworks was the most vulnerable part of the event as the noise could cover any sort of attack. Thankfully the sky show had proven a huge success and nothing untoward had occurred. Well, nothing that was a security concern that required their intervention. None of them had expected the King to drink himself into a slobbering mess and publicly humiliate his Queen on the night of celebrating their family. She had left the grand ballroom with her dignity barely intact and a stony mask of embarrassment on her face. Milady had publicly swooped in with great delight as she romped off with her lover.

D'Artagnan recalled the incredible display of fireworks against the backdrop of a blanket of stars and he wondered again at how God allowed such things. It was an age-old question and not the first time he had wrestled with it. He could not understand how good people could be forced to endure such awful fates sometimes. Aramis would talk of things like free will and he tended to agree. Until there came days where he wished God would just unleash a thunderbolt from Heaven and be done with it.

"Why?" He muttered into the cold night air.

"Why what?" For a moment d'Artagnan had forgotten that Porthos was riding behind him and he frowned at the question.

"Why am I still awake at this hour?" He hastily yawned as he trotted out a believable answer.

"Because you'd fall off your 'orse if you weren't!"

D'Artagnan grinned in agreement and nodded. "And you'd ride straight over me."

" Course I would! How stupid would you be to fall out of the saddle?"

"Good to know you care."

Porthos snorted in response and nudged his horse closer. "Don't 'spose you can tell 'im to move a bit faster? It's freezin' out here!"

Athos seemed to be ignoring them both until he pushed his horse forward a little faster. He had been too distracted to even notice how cold it was, but as Porthos complained, he realised his breath was condensing in front of him and the ends of his moustache were sporting tiny crystals of moisture that would temporarily freeze and melt as he inhaled and exhaled each breath.

As they finally turned their horses into the garrison gate, he was surprised to see men waiting for them and coming to collect their horses. Given that they were the last of the detail to leave the palace, he expected the yard to be almost empty as he had sent men home already. He felt his chest constrict with concern and he saw d'Artagnan already heading for a ground floor room. Assuming that was where Treville had been taken, he quickly followed along.

Aramis had apparently been keeping watch for them because he opened the door before they reached it and stepped out into the yard. Athos did not even need to ask the question on his lips as he could see it in his friend's eyes. At least he did not see death written there.

"The Captain?"

"He lives. He is a long way from recovery, but he lives." Aramis refrained from any further comment and led the way into the room. Several candles burned around the small space and Athos noted that Aramis seemed to leave the single chair for him. He hesitated briefly before he slowly slid into place. Treville was asleep, but it was far from settled. The clean, white bandage that encircled his shoulder blended in too closely with the pallor of his skin underneath. A sheen of sweat slicked his chest and face and a rosy tinge to his cheeks was all Athos needed to see to know that infection was already setting in.

Athos looked up to where Aramis had placed himself across the bed and he frowned. "Has he awoken at all?"

"Yes. He was quite lucid too, both times."

"He is becoming fevered, is he not?"

Aramis nodded in frustration. "I am preparing a drawing poultice to put on the wound. I just needed to give it time to stem the bleeding first. It's always a juggling act on an open wound."

"You don't need to explain, Aramis. You know we trust your judgement on these things." Athos knew just how diligently his friend always worked when one of them was injured and he could only imagine the pressure he felt in treating their captain. He looked across the room and was surprised to see that Porthos and d'Artagnan were nowhere to be seen. He had not heard them leave, but was not surprised when he saw them return carrying blankets and pillows. Aramis smiled in relief as he realised his brothers would keep vigil with him. As much as he wanted to send them to bed, after such a long day, he was well pleased to have them all nearby to share his concerns.

Athos was on his feet and heading for the door. He leaned into d'Artagnan as he began to spread bedding on the floor. "Take me to the man who did this."

He was about to object on the lateness of the hour, but one look at Athos' face silenced any comments he had.

* * *

The silken sheets slipped underneath her fingers as she traced the shape of a fleur-de-lis across it. Her mind had apparently chosen the pattern at random, but a smile quirked at her lips as she considered its importance to her plan. As Louis lay beside her, softly snoring, she frowned at him. The combination of too much alcohol and an inflated sense of himself had combined to produce a very quick romp following the fireworks. She had taught him a thing or two since ingratiating herself into his life and he was developing into a passably entertaining lover, but not this night. Tonight he had drunk too much to manage anything beyond a clumsy grope and she had readily obliged if it sent him off to sleep quickly.

She had been able to slip in a few questions as he enjoyed himself and as always, he was ready to talk far too much. It truly was the simplest way to get information from any man. When she had commented about Treville's injury, he had baulked at the question. After pressing the point of the man's mortality, Louis had gotten quite upset, confirming her suspicions. Despite Rochefort's machinations, the Captain of his Musketeers still held a spot in the King's heart. Which meant that killing him and framing Rochefort for it, would be the perfect way to remove the man from his current position and power. The idea of toppling the man who seemed intent on removing her from her current favoured position brought a rush of emotion. Her heart beat a little faster and her skin tingled in anticipation. It was such a delicious idea that made her lick her lips at the thought of it.

If that meant the untimely demise of Treville, then so be it. Unlike the King, she did not have any such soft spot for the man who had sheltered Athos and aided him in bringing her undone. In fact, there was always the added bonus of causing her husband a world of grief as the man he looked up to was taken from his life.

She smiled to herself as she contemplated that possibility. There were very few people that Athos loved, but she knew that taking them away from him was the very worst punishment she could heap on his head. Treville was as good a start as any. The added bonus of bringing grief to his friends just confirmed her choice. The snoring beside her shifted away as the King rolled over onto his side. She looked at the silhouette of the back of his head for a while and silently congratulated herself at just how far she had climbed since that fateful day when Athos had been too weak to take her life. The second time he had made that mistake would bring about his downfall.

* * *

Athos was barely holding himself in check. It was not obvious to the man kneeling on the floor in front of him, but d'Artagnan could see it. Despite their fatigue and desperate need for rest, Athos was pacing across the floor. His hand rested on his sword hilt and d'Artagnan was afraid that he may yet unsheathe it.

René stared at the floor and was trying to reconcile himself to the idea that he was about to die. His heart pounded wildly, threatening to climb out of his chest. The fear and adrenaline that had driven him earlier in the day had long since subsided. In its place was an emptiness that could not be filled. He had failed his son and he had ultimately failed God to have resorted to such a desperate act as attempting to murder an innocent man. He knew he would most likely not be afforded a priest to confess to before he was executed. His family would be left in ruins and it was all because he had failed so miserably. There were no words left to fix any of it.

He slowly realised that the boots had stopped pacing and were now standing directly in front of him. René forced himself to look up into the face of his executioner and was surprised by what he saw. The man who looked back at him wore a strange expression.

"You will help me to bring justice to this insanity. You will testify against her."

"Testify?" The word was barely a squeak.

"Yes. Before the King. You will tell him what you have just told me."

Rene frowned in confusion. "The King? I don't understand. Would it not be before a magistrate?"

"You tried to kill the Captain of the King's Musketeers!" The fury on Athos' face left Rene leaning away from him in fear. "The King does not take kindly to those who would steal from him."

"But I told you already that …"

"Yes. I know what you told me. And I need for you to tell that to the King."

René stared at him as he had lost his mind. Before he could object, Athos continued on.

"This woman you have described. I am certain I know who she is. If you want your family to be safe and for us to have any chance of finding your son, I need you to tell the King."

Athos leaned closer and noted the tremor of fear across the man's face. "Together, we can bring justice here."

René sagged onto his heels and felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. "For my son, I will do as you ask. Please! You have to help me find him. Before it is too late."

Athos nodded an agreement before turning and heading towards the door. D'Artagnan looked at the man left chained and kneeling on the floor. He looked to be almost broken, but Athos had somehow sparked a glimmer of hope in his eyes. As he followed his friend outside, he wondered at what had just transpired.

"You think his son is still alive then?"

Athos stopped walking and turned towards him. "No. But he needs a reason to go before the King and we need to catch her out."

Athos resumed walking and d'Artagnan simply followed along behind. His mind was racing and he felt sick that Treville could somehow have become an expendable pawn in Milady's never-ending games.


	11. Chapter 11

**This chapter just did not want to play ball. Too many other things going on to focus properly and keep track of everything so it flows properly. Thank you to those of you who have stuck with me while I made you wait. Thank you also for your kind reviews and messages.**

**Chapter Eleven**

The darkness felt thick and heavy, but the weight against his chest seemed to suck the very breath from him. Something held him captive and he struggled to break out from under it. Somewhere out of the darkness, he felt fingers wrapping around his own and words drifted past him. He strained to hear them, but could not make it out. He felt like he was suffocating in the heat and he couldn't tell if it was because of the darkness or the weight on his chest. Suddenly the weight shifted and he felt a spike of pain lance through his shoulder, radiating down his arm and chest.

"I'm sorry,"Aramis muttered to himself as much as his captain as he bandaged the poultice into place. He could feel Treville shift under his hands and he knew he was causing him pain. He felt a presence behind him and was not surprised to note that Porthos was standing close by. The others were still asleep and he had hoped not to wake any of them at all.

"'ow's 'e doing?" The concern in his voice was evident, even through his yawning. He scratched at the back of his head as he stepped a little closer. Even while half asleep, he could see that Aramis looked almost spent.

For his part, Aramis stayed focused on what he was doing and wiped a damp cloth across Treville's face. He noted how he leaned into the cooling touch against his skin. He wasn't quite conscious, but his body was aware of what it needed.

"The poultice is doing its job. He's fevered, but it's not life-threatening. So long as I keep on top of this, he should be fine."

"Why don't you let me do that and you get some sleep?"

Aramis began to automatically shake his head until he felt Porthos gently tugging the bowl out of his hand.

"You're no use to 'im if you keel over from lack of sleep! I can manage this part."

Aramis looked up to see his friend was not going to budge. He knew he had done all he could and Porthos was right. He needed to sleep. He took one more swipe with the cloth before dropping it back into the bowl as if to prevent himself from changing his mind. Porthos carefully wrung out the cloth and watched discreetly as Aramis headed for the warm spot in his bedding that he had just climbed out of. Before very long, he noted that his exhausted friend was soundly asleep. He smiled to himself as he considered how many times Aramis had done the same thing for each of them. Each one of them owed him their lives, several times over. He leaned over once again and wiped the cloth over Treville's neck and chest. The man shifted under his hand and he felt tremors underneath his fingertips. This was a whole new experience for him and he felt simultaneously furious and deeply concerned. It smacked of dishonour that anybody could attempt to murder the Captain of the Musketeers. It amounted to an attack on the King himself.

* * *

Albert felt his fury rising and he began to pace across the small patch of dirt. The faint light of pre-dawn showed him his bootprints as he walked back and forth across them. His breath misted in front of him as the chill of the air bit into his skin. It was too early for the garrison to really be awake yet. He had been unable to even consider sleeping the night before and it was only his desperate need to keep up a cover of normalcy that he had even waited as long as he had. Margaux had no idea that he had headed for the garrison instead of the bakery and he planned to keep it that way. She could not know anything about the threats he had been subjected to.

Albert waited impatiently as the garrison guard climbed down the stairs from his perch above the gate. The second sentry stood his ground and watched them both. The man pacing across the entryway had his attention. Many people came to the garrison for various reasons over the course of the day, but something about this one was different. An air of desperation clung to him as he waited impatiently. The guard held his musket where it was clearly visible and the man below seemed not to care.

As the first guard stepped off the bottom stair, Albert hurried forward, completely beyond caring that a musket was trained on him from above.

"I need to speak to d'Artagnan. Now!"

The guard frowned at the demand and pointed overhead. "It's barely daylight. The lad was on a late night duty last night and is still asleep."

He was not going to explain anything further and nodded towards the street. "Come back later."

"No! I need to see him now. It's urgent!"

Something in the man's tone, along with the distress on his face gave him reason to pause. "Why? What's so urgent?"

Albert felt his mouth go dry as he fumbled for an answer. How could he possibly explain what had transpired without endangering his family further? The less people who knew about it, the better.

"If d'Artagnan is unavailable, then perhaps Captain Treville. He needs to know what I have to tell them."

At the mention of Treville, the sentry shook his head. "Captain Treville is definitely not available. I can relay a message though."

Albert began to pace in frustration. If he was too late in opening the bakery and anybody was watching him, they could know he had spoken out. His family was in even more danger from his own actions. He dared not risk speaking anything to anybody he did not trust and the guard standing in front of him was a complete stranger. Yet, somehow, he needed to get word to d'Artagnan; quickly. As his mind spun in useless circles, he looked up to see an old man walking towards the gate. He was carrying fresh produce and suddenly Albert remembered this was the man who had made bread with his daughter. His name escaped him, but the man's kindness to a distraught child was forever lodged in his memory.

Albert ignored the challenge from the guard as he rushed towards the old man. Serge noted the stranger hurrying towards him and he frowned momentarily until he realised he knew who it was. Something about his demeanor was unsettling and he stopped in his tracks.

"Please, do you remember my daughter, Juliette?"

Serge grinned at him as he nodded. "Kind of hard to forget, that little one."

Tears pricked at his eyes as Albert struggled to speak. Serge noted the strange look on his face and waited to hear what he had to say. The sentry was standing very close behind Albert and Serge nodded at him, as if to reassure him that he knew the stranger.

"Please, I need to speak to d'Artagnan urgently." Fear spread across the father's face and Serge took a slight step back. He had been around long enough to have become a good judge of character and anybody who had raised the child that had made bread at his table, was a good man. If he was afraid about something connected to his daughter, then there had to be a valid reason.

"The lad's had a rough night, but I'll let him know as soon as I can."

Albert swallowed back the urge to shout at him. It would serve no good purpose to rile up these men and would only end in him being thrown out of the garrison. He could not risk his message not getting through. Instead, he nodded in thanks and tried to speak.

"It's important I speak to him as soon as possible."

Serge shifted the load in his hands so one hand was almost free. He reached out towards the man in front of him and nodded slowly. "I understand. I promise I will speak to him."

Albert felt the old man's eyes boring into him and even though he knew it was born from concern, he had to shut it down. His family could not afford for him to slip up.

"Thank you," he mumbled as he slowly turned for the gate again.

The sentry guard stepped closer to Serge as the two of them watched Albert depart.

"Don't imagine d'Artagnan will be awake for some time yet. They came in after the third watch last night."

Serge nodded in agreement before he shifted his load again and headed across the yard. Something nagged at him that perhaps he needed to go and wake the lad, but he was loath to do so. The day before had been extremely taxing on all of them and they needed to rest. Instead, he set about preparing breakfast for the garrison and soon enough he would take breakfast to the men who cared for their captain. He could tell d'Artagnan the news then.

* * *

The stench was overpowering. She could not decide if it was the stench of humans confined under inhumane conditions or the stench of death. Death seemed inevitable. As more faces appeared over several days, she felt the level of despair rising in direct correlation to her hope dropping. Nobody was coming for them. Nobody would rescue them from their own personal hell. The meagre supply of food and water left them all still hungry at the end of each day and she felt herself growing weaker. Perhaps that was the idea. By keeping them weak, they were more compliant and less trouble. Thoughts floated through her mind that it would be easier to just stop eating altogether. A slow death would result, but it could be peaceful if she just closed her eyes and refused to open them again. The only thing that kept her going was that each time she closed her eyes, she saw her family. As much as she wanted to succumb to the darkness, she simply could not.

* * *

Leon heaved at the great bellows with all the strength he had and watched in satisfaction as the fire leaped to life again. He could not understand how Albert was so distracted that he had not noticed the fire beneath the ovens going out. He had been apprenticed to the man after his father had arranged the position and he was well pleased with his good fortune. There were many boys who lived in his patch of Paris and not all were so blessed. His master was a kind man, who though he worked the boy hard, was also willing to teach him everything he knew of his trade. Some day, Leon aspired to having his own bakery. Perhaps, if life really did surprise him, fortune could smile on him and he may be able to buy this one. He continued to pump at the bellows until the flame was high enough and then he stowed them under the bench. Albert seemed not to have noticed his actions and he debated what to do next. Before he could make a decision, a young musketeer walked through the door and Albert looked as if he was going to have a heart attack. Something was very wrong with his master and he felt unsettled by whatever was going on.

Before d'Artagnan could speak, Albert rushed at him and hustled him outside the door and into the street. He could not be seen anywhere near the bakery.

D'Artagnan reached out a hand to steady the man he considered as family and watched in concern as his face creased in pain. "Are you unwell? Do you need a physician?"

"No! No. I'm sorry, but, no. I need your help. You and your friends."

As Albert laid out his story of being threatened, d'Artagnan had to force himself to stand still. He wanted to pace, punch the wall across from him and chase down every one of Rochefort's guards in the city. He barely had time to consider the emotion flooding his being as he heard the desperate plea of a friend trying to keep his wife and daughter safe. By the time he was done, Albert was emotionally spent and he sagged against the wall. D'Artagnan reached out a hand to squeeze his shoulder before slowly bringing up his other hand. As he clamped both hands on his friend's shoulders, he shook his head slowly.

"You have my word, I will not stop until any threat against them is eliminated."

Albert looked up with moisture pooling in his eyes. The young man before him had first come to his attention when he had no idea who he even was. The depth of his character had become apparent over time, but the look on his face just reinforced it for Albert. He felt lightheaded with relief to know he had such a man on his side, particularly as he brought the weight of the whole garrison with him. For the first time in days, he felt hope rising again. His family would be safe and those who would seek to harm them would be brought to justice.

* * *

The door slid closed behind her and she stepped down into the street. The air was growing chilly and she pulled at her scarf before setting off. Marie was too small to be out in the wintry air and she was safely tucked inside Juliette's coat. As the child made her way towards her father's bakery she looked around at the foggy air. She wrapped her mittened hands around her mouth and blew puffs of smoke into the air. It always seemed like some kind of magic when the air got cold enough to do that. As she wandered across the square, she was not paying attention at who was coming towards her. By the time she looked up, she almost squealed to see Louis coming her way.

Except it wasn't him, she suddenly realised. Disappointment welled up in her. The Musketeers all wore blue cloaks and she had seen the blue before she had seen the facial features under the hat.

"Juliette."

The man called out her name and she looked at him in surprise. He was not one of Louis' friends that she knew, but she also knew there were a lot of musketeers.

"Juliette, d'Artagnan sent me to fetch you."

Juliette paused as the man reached out a hand towards her.

"He's waiting at your father's bakery."

The child stretched out her hand and grasped hold of the hand. It was always exciting to see her friend and the added bonus of it being a surprise made her smile.


	12. Chapter 12

**Well it seems we have finally made it to where you knew I was heading. Juliette is not happy with me and Albert just put me on a wanted poster. Thank you as always to those who take time to review. I can't reply to the guest reviews, but thank you anyway.**

**Chapter Twelve**

D'Artagnan felt the weight of Albert's fears heavy on his shoulders as he walked off into the street. Or perhaps it was really the weight of his own promise. Either way, he felt sickened at the idea that anybody could stoop to extortion as though it was their right to demand another person's money. As he walked, his thoughts swirled around like mud in a river whirlpool. The darkness rose to the surface each time a new thought made itself known and he tried to squash it back down to where it was manageable. He felt the steadiness of his sword hilt within his grasp and he reminded himself that he had a whole garrison of men behind him. He would not be alone in delivering on his promise.

He lifted his head defiantly and strode forward more confidently, only to suddenly stop in his tracks. Across the square, a musketeer was walking into an alleyway with Juliette. The child seemed to be struggling against him, although he had her arm in a firm grasp. Why any of the men would be there was almost irrelevant. The greater question was, why was he being so rough with her? He felt his feet moving before he even knew it and he almost barreled into a street vendor as he crossed the square.

"Hey!" he shouted at the retreating back, but the man ignored him. "Let go of her!"

Juliette reacted to the sound of his voice and twisted back against her captor's grasp.

"Louis!" The word was out of her mouth before she realised and the man holding her arm stopped walking to look around. As he spotted the Musketeer following behind him and quickly closing the gap between them, he grabbed at the child and began to pull her forward.

Juliette squeaked as her arm was wrenched and her feet almost slipped out from under her. She slid against the cobblestones while trying to keep a watch over her shoulder.

"Let her go! She is just a child!"

D'Artagnan chased after the duo as the apparent musketeer dragged Juliette along the alleyway. He knew the man was not what he appeared to be and mentally connected the man somehow with what had been done to Treville. René's anguish echoed in his ears as he considered another kidnapped child and another distraught family. He would not let Albert's family suffer the same fate.

"Stop!" His sword was unsheathed and aimed towards Juliette's captor, although he had not real plan of how to separate the two. If the man was just another father like René, then perhaps reason would talk him down.

"You don't have to do this. Whoever is threatening you will be brought to justice."

The smirk on the man's face caught him by surprise as he spun back and grabbed at Juliette. D'Artagnan skidded to a stop as the man pulled a dagger from his belt and waved it in front of the terrified child. He had one hand across her shoulder and wound into the child's scarf and the other held the point of the dagger uncomfortably close to her neck.

"Nobody is threatening me, you fool! But if you come any closer, I will slit her throat." The sick grin that accompanied the words, made it crystal clear that he meant what he said. Juliette tugged at the arm around her shoulders without success. Her mittens gave her no chance of gripping anything and his hold on her was too tight anyway. He laughed at her futile struggles and the man simply tightened his grasp until she stopped.

"Woah. Wait, you don't need to hurt her! She's just a child." D'Artagnan dropped the point of his sword, as if reducing the threat level. He dared not sheath it yet, but he hoped that the man would see reason and release her. The look that reflected back at him was nothing to draw comfort from. The sinister smirk had been replaced by a frown that seemed somehow false.

"Such a shame. She was going to be a very profitable child, until her father made a huge mistake."

"Profitable? In what way?" D'Artagnan found his mind racing as he considered any way a child could be counted as profitable. His stomach twisted into a knot as nothing good came to mind. He noted Juliette's intense gaze on him and he tried to reassure her as best he could from across the alleyway. Tears welled in her eyes, but she stared at him nonetheless.

"When Papa wants to keep his precious ones safe, he should pay for their protection. Not go talking to musketeers!" The low growl in the words matched the anger on the man's face. "Now she is of no value at all."

D'Artagnan stared at the stranger as he absorbed the words. Albert was right. He was being extorted from. Somebody had seen the desperate father go to the garrison. Or worse yet, d'Artagnan suddenly knew, they had seen him enter the bakery! Anger welled up inside him and he couldn't tell if it was from the audacity of the threats or his own stupidity in playing into their hands.

Where was that garrison full of men when he needed them?

Before he could consider that question any further, he noticed Juliette begin to squirm again in the man's arms and her eyes grew wide with fear as she looked behind him. Someone was clearly there and d'Artagnan raised his sword as he swung around to face the new threat. He almost made it before he heard Juliette scream. The sound echoed across the small space and he felt himself falling sideways as a thunderbolt exploded through his head. As darkness closed in at the edges of his vision, he thought he felt hands grasping at him.

* * *

Aramis grinned as he noted Treville seemed to be waking up. Fine lines creased his face and his eyes flittered underneath the eyelids. As Aramis leaned in closer, he could hear the subtle change in the man's breathing. A groan accompanied the first tentative look and Treville quickly squeezed his eyes shut.

"Good afternoon," Aramis spoke loud enough to be heard, but softly enough to avoid adding to the man's headache.

"Afternoon?" A hand slipped out from under the covers as Treville reached up towards his head. Aramis tugged at the hand and eased it back to lay against his chest.

"Yes, you've slept almost around the clock."

He watched intently as the information sunk in and almost smiled at the frown that crossed the man's face. Treville was known for being out of bed before dawn and often being the last man to go to bed at the end of the day. It was rumoured he did not sleep when his men were still out and he could sometimes be seen walking the practice yard during the long, dark hours. That made things especially interesting when they were away on extended assignment. Aramis knew the truth was more likely that his captain was a light sleeper which was a trait born out of necessity over many years.

"How are you feeling?"

Treville shifted against the bed, as if weighing his answer.

"Hot …. thirsty."

Before he could speak again, a hand was sliding under his neck and a cup of water was tipped against his lips. As the last drops slid down his parched throat, he looked across to see if there was any more. Aramis eased him back against the pillow and shook his head.

"Let's see you keep that down before I give you any more."

For the first time, Treville noted how quiet the room was and he looked around to see where he was. It could have been any one of the garrison rooms, but at least he knew he was home. Bedding pilled up against the wall told him that others had slept the night in the room as well. He could not contain a faint smile as he did not need to ask who that was.

Suddenly a concern came to mind and he tried to force himself to sit up. Aramis simply pressed a hand against his chest and attempted to glare at him.

"Does that work on anybody besides d'Artagnan?" Treville smiled lightly as he spoke and Aramis laughed softly before sobering again.

"Doesn't even work on him since he got his commission." A bright smile lit up his face as he continued and Treville recognised diversion tactics when he saw them.

"Perhaps you could have a word with our young Gascon and remind him that as a medic, what I say, goes? When I tell a man he still needs to rest, I mean it!" The pressure of his hand against his captain's chest had not eased up and Treville caught his eye again.

"Twenty four hours is too long to be out of commission and I need to show my face at the palace."

"Athos and Porthos are already there. Captain, you really need to trust Athos when you need him."

Treville growled at the comment and Aramis wondered if he had overstepped the mark. "You know that I trust him. But if there is plotting afoot as you say there is, then I need to be seen, up and about."

"A show of force?"

"Exactly! We are already well behind in these current games and cannot afford to disappear."

"When Aramis did not respond, Treville narrowed his eyes and waited for whatever the man was holding back. Eventually he cleared his throat and looked away momentarily before speaking.

"Captain … we got some further information on who did this to you."

"You told me that you caught the person, didn't you? Or did I dream that?" Treville frowned as the fragmented memory arose in his mind.

"Oh, we caught him. He's locked up here at the garrison. The bigger issue is that we think we know who is behind it. We just don't know why or what the rest of her play is."

"Her?"

Aramis smothered a smile as he didn't want Treville to misunderstand him, but the man missed nothing, even when only half recovered and barely yet fully conscious.

"Milady."

The Captain stared at him as if he had lost his mind. "Milady?" He sucked in a sharp breath and grasped at the edges of the blanket as if looking for something to keep his hands occupied. "Are you sure? I mean …. to what end? Why now?"

The tactician's mind was already rolling as fast as he could manage, but he simply could not come up with a valid answer to his own questions. As he stared at Aramis, he could see he wasn't alone in that.

"We don't know yet. But Athos is fairly certain. He's gone to the palace to get some information."

In spite of Aramis' hand on his chest, Treville did force his way upright at the comment. The fear on his face was unmistakable.

"It's all right, Captain. Porthos went with him."

"So two fools to the slaughter then!"

"Captain," Aramis reached for another cup of water and held it out. Treville stared at him and eventually took the proffered cup, knowing he needed it even though it felt like he was being stalled. "Athos is many things, but he's no fool. If anybody has reason to find evidence on Milady, it's him."

The Captain slowly placed the cup back on the bedside table. "And that is exactly what worries me!"

* * *

The darkness was beginning to clear a little as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. The smell made her stomach turn and Juliette felt like she did when she got a stomach upset. She could hear the sound of metal rubbing against metal and she somehow knew there were people in the room with them. None of them had said anything since the men opened the door and shoved them inside. One of the horrid men had clamped chains over Louis' wrists and when they tried to fit them to her, they were clearly too big. Instead, they had settled for a length of rope that tied her hands to the ring that held his chains.

"Louis." She leaned down to his ear and whispered his name again. She didn't dare speak any louder as the darkness seemed to muffle and distort sounds. "Please wake up." Tears dripped onto his cheek and she rubbed a mitten against his skin. "Louis! I don't like it here."

In the gloomy atmosphere, she could barely make out the features of his face. His eyes had not opened since the man in the alley had hit him in the back of the head. Suddenly an idea came to mind and she reached over again. When she first found him and he didn't remember his name, she had given him a royal name to borrow, until he found his own name. When he did remember, he had said she could call him anything she wanted. Perhaps, if he was sleeping, she needed to call him by his real name.

"Charles?" She whispered desperately into his ear and almost began to cry in earnest when he still didn't respond. Finally, with no better idea in mind, Juliette wormed her way under the chains that bound his wrists and wriggled as close to him as she could. The weight of his arm across her gave a measure of comfort and she pushed her face into his chest. As the tears threatened again, she took a deep breath and soaked in the scent that was a mixture of leather and horse and something else. The sounds in the darkness faded a little and she felt a sense of calm wash over her as she grasped hold of his shirt.


	13. Chapter 13

**Thank you so much for your lovely reviews. I very much appreciate hearing what you think. The more I write of Milady, the more I detest her, but the more I understand what a brilliant character she is.**

**Chapter Thirteen**

The smell was the first thing to break through the darkness. It smelled like the open sewers that flowed through some areas and he found himself trying to breathe through his mouth to block it. As he did so, he gradually became aware of other things. Whatever was underneath his cheek was cold and damp. His head ached and he was glad of the darkened atmosphere as he slowly squinted open his eyes. As he began to shift slowly, he became aware of the warmth in front of him and suddenly realised a body was pressed up against him. Fingers curled into the front of his shirt as he moved and he frowned until his brain caught up with his body.

"Juliette?" He mumbled her name, almost as if he was considering who else it could be. As he felt the wetness of tears against his skin and hands tightening on his shirtfront, he pulled his hands in against her shoulders and squeezed her closer. The shock of realising his hands were bound almost made him pull away from her. He sucked in a breath and tried to breathe out calmly. He could not afford to allow himself to panic and he needed to evaluate what was going on.

"Are you hurt?" He whispered into her ear and felt Juliette shift against him. She seemed to be shaking her head and he would have smiled under other circumstances. Suddenly he felt her lift her face towards him.

"Is your head hurt?" The fear in her voice was palpable and despite the steady thrum behind his eyes, he rushed to reassure her.

"Aramis says I have a thick head. It's fine."

As his eyes finally began to adjust to the dim conditions, he could see the tears still shining in her eyes. Without thinking, he leaned forward and brushed a kiss against her forehead. "I promise, I'm fine."

Her fingers were still entwined in the lacings of his shirt and he felt her tug on them again. "Marie says she is scared."

D'Artagnan felt a smile quirk his lips upwards. "Where is mademoiselle Marie? I can't see her anywhere."

Juliette pulled away a little, as if trying to make space between them. "She was cold. I put her inside my coat."

"Then what could she possibly be scared of? She has you holding her and I'm holding you."

As Juliette snuggled closer again, d'Artagnan shifted one hand so he could stroke the back of her head. "I'm going to get you back home. Both of you. I promise."

"Good luck with that promise!" A snarl crawled out of the dim area nearby and d'Artagnan felt Juliette squeeze as close as she could to his chest. He lifted his head to try to determine who had spoken and for the first time he realised there were multiple shapes nearby. It could certainly explain the smell and his heart stuttered as he suddenly understood just how much trouble they were in. If this many people were being held prisoner for long enough to produce such a stench, it was not surprising that such a hopeless comment had been thrown at him.

He needed information, but did not want to cause any further trauma to Juliette. Finally the need to have answers won out as he could not hope to escape without them.

"Where are we?"

"God knows!" The same voice rolled out towards him and he could feel the lack of hope in the response.

"God doesn't care. He abandoned us here to rot!" Another voice pierced the gloom and he noted it was a woman.

"Perhaps if we work together, we can get out of here." D'Artagnan shifted as he spoke and tried to sit up. His arm felt heavy and stiff as he had been lying on it for too long. The sudden rush of blood through his arm brought with it pins and needles and he flexed his hand to try to release the pain. Juliette shifted alongside him and he felt her climbing into his lap as he settled back against a post of some sort. The heavy length of chain that bound his arms clanked against his knee and he barely resisted the urge to yank them in frustration. He would not add to Juliette's distress if he could help it.

When nobody responded to his comment, he could feel the despair in the atmosphere. He slid his hand down Juliette's arm and was sickened to note that her hands were bound with rope. His fingers were still tingling as the bloodflow normalised and he fumbled at the knotted rope. Silently cursing his clumsy fingers, he continued to work at the rope while trying to take in any details he could in the faint light.

"How many people are here?" He looked over towards a shape huddled against the wall and waited for a response.

"Seven. Far as I can tell. Nine now with you two."

As the rope finally slid apart, d'Artagnan rubbed his hands as best he could, up and down Juliette's wrists. There was no blood as far as he could tell and he breathed a sigh of relief. Suddenly he felt her shift against him and two mittened hands slipped into place around his neck. He could feel a lump under her coat and smiled as he considered that Marie would not appreciate being squashed against his shoulder.

Before anything else could be said, they all heard the outer door begin to shift open and suddenly light flooded the area. D'Artagnan looked around urgently, trying to take in as much information as possible before the doors may close again. He noted that Juliette lifted her face towards the light and he was relieved to see she looked relatively all right, in spite of what she had been through. He flashed her a smile as she watched him and she managed a ghost of a smile in return.

"You are a pair of fools!" One of the men moving towards them was gesturing wildly towards the two trailing behind him. "Why did you bring a musketeer here?"

Juliette shrank into d'Artagnan's arms and he quickly understood why. One of the men was the same one he had confronted in the alleyway.

"It's all right. He's not going to hurt you," he whispered into her hair as he tightened his grip around her. At the same time, he noted the shifting of someone behind him and a gasp of surprise that was quickly smothered. The revelation of his identity obviously changed the game for both the prisoners and those who guarded them.

He watched as the man turned and headed for the entrance again, while the first man stayed put. D'Artagnan took advantage of the light to drink in all the details he could and was horrified to see the condition of some of the people in the cramped space. It was clear they had been there far longer than he and Juliette had. No wonder the man had said that God had abandoned them.

* * *

Athos managed to contain himself from pacing as he waited for Constance. He watched the entryway beneath the stairs and half expected his wife to come sauntering through the door at any moment. He would not put it past her to spoil his information gathering by appearing where she was most definitely not wanted. She seemed to have a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Porthos leaned against the wall and watched as his friend seemed rooted to the spot. There were no points for guessing what was going through the man's head. The ride to the palace had been rather subdued as Athos had ground through his own thoughts. Porthos would have preferred to stay at the garrison and deal with the man who had dared shoot their captain. He figured he was just lucky that Athos had ordered him to be placed under lock and key.

Finally they heard footsteps on the marble stairs and both men looked up to see Constance hurrying towards them. The look of consternation on her face belied her usual calm attitude to her service to the Queen.

"Madame Bonacieux, thank you for agreeing to see us at such short notice."

Constance raised an eyebrow at Athos as he spoke. "I have never had reason to doubt you, so of course I came."

Athos nodded in deference to the compliment and waved a hand across the open space. "Is there somewhere more private we may speak?"

Constance immediately understood the need to avoid the ears that seemed to grow out of every wall and she gestured to a door. "Through there."

As the two musketeers followed her into a small anteroom she could feel the tension rippling off Athos in waves and she felt a flurry of fear that the two of them had come to tell her bad news. She had heard the gossip that Captain Treville had been injured when somebody in the crowd had fired on him, but that was not cause for the two men to be there summonsing her. She fought the urge to blurt out her fear and turned to face them as Porthos pushed the heavy door closed. The serious look on each man's face almost had her stumbling forward. It was only the discipline of palace protocol that kept her grounded.

"My apologies for the intrusion, but we need some information and we need discretion."

Constance felt her heart rate racing as she had been anticipating something else and the relief almost overwhelmed her.

"Information? What sort of information?"

Athos swallowed before speaking as he knew he was placing their friend in danger by asking her to help them. "Milady. We need … "

"What do you need?' The mention of Milady made her blood run cold as it was clear the woman was once again involved in something questionable.

Porthos took a step closer and clamped a hand on Athos' shoulder. "We need to know her comings and goings. Who she meets with. When she leaves the palace. We need an inside eye on 'er."

Constance looked between the two faces and frowned. "She isn't here. I saw her riding out this morning."

Athos moved towards her and Porthos dropped his hand, while moving forward in sync.

"You are certain of that?"

"Yes. The Queen asked …" Constance paused, unwilling to betray her Queen's confidence while knowing the two men would not ask for what was not necessary.

Athos nodded his head as she stopped speaking. He could easily read between the lines and knew exactly what the Queen would be thinking. Milady had actively embarrassed her at the gala and the King had seen fit to publicly humiliate his consort in front of the entire court. He lifted a hand to let her know she did not need to continue.

"Was she alone when she left?"

"The King is still in his chambers. He is not expected to rise for some time yet."

Athos glanced towards Porthos and both men understood. It had been a wild night and the King was possibly quite hungover. The fact it was late afternoon and their liege was still in bed was an accepted fact of court life. After all, the King had outdone himself in entertaining his courtiers to celebrate his son.

"We need to know whatever information you can get us on Milady. Without endangering yourself!" Athos reached for Constance's hand as he spoke. "I know you wish to serve the Queen, but she will have my head if I lose her the best confidante she has ever had."

The barest smile graced his face and Constance could see the tension just below the surface. She suddenly realised she had never seen Athos truly laugh. When he smiled, his face came to life and the harshness he had endured seemed to melt away. Constance brushed aside the errant thought and wondered where it had come from. She knew that Milady had cruelly damaged him and she was well pleased to help rid the palace of the woman who had caused all of them such grief. Especially her Queen. She alone had seen the woman weep bitter tears that she would not allow any other to witness.

"I will let you know anything I think is relevant."

"Thank you." Athos genuinely smiled as he reached for the door handle. "We will be in your debt."

* * *

"Describe him for me!" Her tone of voice brooked no allowance for wasting her time and the man hurried to comply.

"Tall. Dark hair. Olive skin. He's not from Paris, that's for certain." He sucked in a breath, half expecting punishment for dragging in the musketeer who had followed him into the alleyway with that wretched child.

Instead, her face slowly softened and he noted a smile on her lips. Something about her smile chilled him though as it was malevolent, not humorous.

"Perhaps you are not quite the fool I believed you to be."


	14. Chapter 14

**I want to give Albert a hug and I'm not even game enough to go near Margaux! Thank you so much for your continued interest and reviews. You are wonderful :-)**

**Chapter Fourteen**

As Athos and Porthos turned their horses into the garrison gate, both men saw it at the same time. Treville was seated at the table beneath his office and Aramis hovered nearby, as if half expecting the man to head for the practice yard at any moment and needing to drag him back. Athos dismounted and strode towards the duo while Porthos tried to smother a laugh at the sight. He couldn't imagine the Captain being a compliant patient and Aramis was simply outranked. As he slid from his horse and handed off the reins, he could see Athos already appraising their captain.

"Should you be up and about yet?" The question was directed at Treville, but Athos glanced across at Aramis who simply shrugged at him.

The flush of his cheeks belied Treville's attempt to ignore the concern behind the question. He knew the three of them would stick together regardless of what he said, but he was still their captain. He drew himself up and squared his shoulders. The lingering effects of his wound were irrelevant in the current circumstances.

"The King needs me to be up and about. I have missed far too much already."

As Athos watched the man for any sign of his real state of health, he suddenly noted that d'Artagnan was nowhere to be seen.

"Where is d'Artagnan?" he asked as he searched out the immediate area.

"He went to see Albert about something."

Athos frowned at him as Aramis responded. With all that was going on, now was not the time for a social visit.

"Serge said he came by earlier and was rather worked up about something. He wouldn't say what it was and would only speak with d'Artagnan or Treville."

Athos' stiffened at the odd comment. "Why would he need to speak to Treville?"

Aramis shrugged his shoulders as he considered the question. "No idea. He wouldn't give any details."

Filing away the problem until it could be dealt with later, Athos turned to the most immediate issue. "Our prisoner. Has he given up any more information."

"Nothing more than he told you already. Although he seemed genuinely disturbed at what he had done to me."

Treville looked around at his men's clenched fists and stiff stances. He understood the anger that burned below the surface, but he also had come to the same conclusion as Athos; that René was simply trying to save his son when he had been coerced into being used as an assassin. Despite the deep ache that seemed to have a permanent place in his upper chest, Treville could not bring himself to condemn a man for his actions in such circumstances.

"What news from the palace?"

Athos pointed towards the stairs as he glanced around. "Perhaps we need to head that way."

As each of them moved towards the stairs, the musketeers noted their captain still seemed unsteady on his feet. His face still held the flush of fever and Athos looked to Aramis in concern. Aramis shook his head slightly as he started his march up the stairs. Athos saw the same concern on Porthos' face and he barely held himself in check as they climbed towards the office. Clearly Treville should still be resting.

By the time they were inside the office, Treville had already made his way to his desk and slumped heavily into the seat. Aramis moved closer before catching the man's eye. He stopped in his tracks, clearly torn between speaking his concern and respecting his commanding officer's wishes to be left alone. Finally he settled for standing close to the edge of the desk, in easy reach, while apparently focusing his attention on Athos and Porthos.

Treville steepled his fingers under his chin and slowly breathed out. It was beginning to feel uncomfortable to be upright, but he forced himself to stay put.

"Well?" The look was direct and spoke everything that his words did not.

Athos stepped forward and considered where to start. "We know from René that he was forced to fire on you. He told us about a woman that fit Milady's description." He sucked in a shallow breath and continued on, despite the grip of fear around his chest. The idea that she was behind an attempt on Treville's life left him unnerved as she rarely failed to get her target.

"We spoke to Constance earlier and asked her to observe and report on Milady."

"You did what?" Treville was almost on his feet before his body reminded him he needed to stay seated. He grasped at the edge of the desk and Aramis stepped closer, reaching out a hand.

Treville batted his hand away, but stayed in his seat. "You have put her in danger for no good reason!"

Athos felt the weight of his decision sitting uncomfortably in his gut and he tried to calm himself. "Captain, I was very definite in reminding her to observe and report only. She is an intelligent woman and was keen to assist us when I explained the need."

Porthos moved in closer to Athos' side and nodded an agreement. "She will do anything to help the Queen and if that means giving us useful information on Milady, she will."

Treville glared at the pair of them as he considered their statements. Before he could speak, Athos continued on.

"She told us Milady rode out alone earlier today. She had not yet returned to the palace. When she had the option to enjoy a lazy day in the wake of the celebrations, why would she be up and gone early?"

Treville rubbed a hand across his forehead and was annoyed to feel the sweat against his hand. He would not give Aramis any reason to send him back to rest and he dropped his hand to his lap. The three men surrounding him could clearly see he was flagging and each of them wished to avoid any further distress, but there was work to be done and little time to do it.

"I still need to speak with this René you brought in. I need to …" Before he could finish the sentence, a commotion in the courtyard had all of their attention. Even with the door closed, they could hear somebody calling frantically for d'Artagnan. Athos wrenched open the door and was closely followed down the stairs by the other three men. As he descended the stairs, he was shocked to see Albert pacing the yard below, his eyes wildly darting about the space. Two musketeers were stationed in front of him, trying to contain the agitated man. As Albert caught sight of Athos he shoved his way forward through the two men. Athos waved them off and they stepped aside as Albert rushed forward.

"Where is d'Artagnan? I need to speak to him!"

Athos reached out a hand to steady the man, unsure of the cause of the distraught look on his face. "He is not here. I was told he had gone to see you."

"That was hours ago! You mean he has not been back here since?"

Athos felt a knot of fear forming in his stomach at the look on the man's face and he glanced around at the others. "Not that I am aware of. I have only just returned a short time ago myself."

Aramis shook his head and looked to see that others were doing the same. "I have not seen him since he left. Anyone else? Did he return and leave again?"

Albert turned to see more men gathering behind him as they came across from the practice yard and he frowned at the looks he was receiving. He turned back towards Athos and gripped his arm.

"Then it is possible they have taken him too."

"Who has taken him? And who else are you referring to?" Athos had a vague feeling he already knew the answer to the second question and hoped to God he was wrong. As Albert sagged onto the step in front of him, Athos leaned in closer.

"She's gone. Juliette. I didn't think they …" Albert swallowed a gulp of air as he considered the newest implications and he found himself struggling to breathe. The ground before him seemed to shift and he closed his eyes to steady himself. He felt a hand on his shoulder and he slowly opened his eyes to see Athos staring intently at him.

'Start from the beginning." As he waited, he noted that somebody had filled a cup with wine and it was being pressed into Albert's hand. It was no surprise to him that Aramis nudged his way past and sat on the step next to the stricken father.

"Red Guards. There have been rumours … nothing anybody could really verify … rumours of standover tactics. Threats." Albert looked up to see fury in Athos' eyes, although his face remained a mask of calm.

"We have begun to hear the same rumours. Go on."

"They turned up at my business. Demanding money. Threatening my family." Albert took a gulp of the wine in his hand and tried to steady himself. "I came here this morning to see d'Artagnan. To ask for help. I was told he was not available as he had been on a late duty last night. I asked for your captain, but I can see now why he was also not available." Albert had only just noted the sling around the man's arm, strapping his arm close to his chest.

"But you left word for d'Artagnan and he went to see you, hours ago." Aramis frowned as he calculated just how long ago d'Artagnan had left the garrison.

"He should have been back here by now. He told me he would help us and he was heading back here to talk with you." Albert watched as Athos clenched a fist, while not saying anything in response. He reached out a hand and grasped at Athos' doublet. "My daughter … she has disappeared! They took my money and I thought she was safe! I'm such a fool. This is all my fault." His words trailed away as he clung desperately to the leather in his hand.

Treville pushed himself forward and Albert reluctantly released Athos from his grasp. "This is not your fault. There is a bigger plan going on here that we are still trying to piece together." He glanced across at his men and could see the cogs turning as they processed the information.

"They must have seen me talking to d'Artagnan and now I've placed him in danger too."

"Perhaps. We need details of times and when Juliette was last seen and by whom. We need a starting point to begin searching." Treville looked to Aramis who was further up the stairs than he was. "I need a map, from my office."

Albert sagged against the railing of the bannister as he considered what he knew. He felt sick at the idea his actions could have brought any harm to the young musketeer he considered as family, but a spark of hope flared in him that if both he and Juliette had gone missing simultaneously, perhaps they were together.

* * *

D'Artagnan listened as muffled voices carried across the space from outside the door. Lanterns had been lit outside and the darkness inside seemed to drown them. He had seen enough to realise they were in some kind of stable, but he had no clues as to where it could be. There were no sounds of people or carriages outside and he wondered how far he could have been carried in the time-frame he had estimated since his capture. Juliette had said he was carried by the men and not been taken on horseback, so that at least meant they were still in Paris.

He held tight to Juliette as the door was pushed open and somebody entered with a bucket and a basket full of scraps. Before the man was even done putting it down, desperate hands grasped at the food as people crawled across the dirt. His stomach growled involuntarily and he knew that if he didn't move quickly, there may not be any left. He quickly deposited Juliette on her feet and made a snatch towards the basket. His fingers curled around a small loaf and he beckoned Juliette closer.

"You need to drink. See that ladle in the bucket?" He pointed towards the handle he could see over the lip of the bucket.

The child shuffled closer to the bucket and reached in for the ladle. The water made her realise just how very thirsty she was and she quickly gulped down a couple of scoops. As it hit her empty stomach it began to rumble and she clenched a hand across her waist. The basket was empty and she could see various people huddled back against the wall, gnawing on whatever they had managed to retrieve. While there were beggars in the streets near her home, she had never seen such desperation on a human face before and she shrank back from it.

Suddenly she felt an arm wrap around her from behind and she leaned back into it.

"Here, have some bread." She frowned as a piece of very stale bread was placed in her hand and she was almost tempted to throw it away. Never in her life had she eaten such stale bread. Whatever was left at the end of each day, Albert gave to those who came begging. He would not leave bread to become a solid brick. D'Artagnan reached around her and snapped the crust in two.

"Nibble at it, then have some more water."

He smiled as she slowly did as she was told and he watched as she eventually consumed the entire thing. He ignored his own hunger as he watched her eat. Tomorrow they would escape and there would be plenty of time for food then. As Juliette finished eating, he reached for the bucket and ladle to slake his thirst. Others eyed him intently before he lifted the bucket and passed it as far as he could. A strange look passed one woman's face, as if she was surprised at the gesture. She glanced at his shoulder and frowned at the pauldron.

"'ow'd they capture you? Don't leave much 'ope for the rest of us!"

D'Artagnan rocked back on his heels and considered her words. His own stupidity had led to him being here. Eventually he looked across at her and then slowly looked around the space.

"Actually, it gives every one of you hope. My friends will not stop searching until they find me. And that means they will find all of you."

Various muffled comments carried across the space, but it was Juliette who spoke up.

"My Papa will find me."

The defiant tilt of her chin almost made d'Artagnan laugh. He lifted her back onto his lap and settled back against the post.

"Of course he will!"


	15. Chapter 15

**Having still not seen the next episode as it airs here tomorrow, I'm keen to see how my description of Treville's recovery from an attack compares. Thank you so much for your comments and reviews.**

**Chapter Fifteen**

"I may not have known you for any great length of time, but I do believe that we have shared enough now for you to trust me as I trust you."

The words were not meant to be accusatory, but Constance felt a tinge of guilt anyway. She kept her gaze lowered to the floor and felt the hint of a blush rising up her cheeks.

"Your Majesty, I do trust you. And I cannot express the depth of how honoured I am by your trust in me."

"Then, dear Constance," Anne swept over and placed a hand on her confidante's elbow, "why do you not trust me now? I know something is troubling you and it bothers me so."

"You are too kind. I apologise for being less than professional in my duties." Constance plastered on a bright smile before looking up and her heart stuttered as she felt her Queen's eyes on her. The woman was no fool and her intuition was as sharp as ever.

"Would you sit with me?" The Queen pointed to a window seat, covered in delicate cushions. The light of the day was fading and the last of the afternoon sun bathed the seat in a warm glow. She could not imagine a more inviting spot to sit and while away an hour or two.

As Constance moved to sit beside the Queen, she found her mind madly scrambling for answers to the questions she knew would come. She would no sooner lie to the woman than raise a weapon against her, but there were things afoot that she could not reveal. At least not yet.

"Did I see Athos and Porthos in the grounds earlier?" Anne smiled at her, as if to put her at ease.

"Yes, they came to deliver a message to the King."

"News of Captain Treville?" The look of concern on her face was genuine and Constance nodded. "He lives?"

"Yes, Your Majesty, although he was gravely wounded. Aramis is tending him." The faintest tremor in her voice gave away her fear and Anne reached for her hand.

"He is a good man. Is there any news on what happened, or why?"

"I believe the Musketeers are still trying to determine the truth of the matter."

When Constance fell silent and turned to look out of the window, Anne watched her intently. There was something more that she was missing. Too many years at court had taught her to read what was not said. That skill combined with the fact that Constance was not a beguiling courtier and she knew there was more. It would take patience to draw it out. She turned to see what had her confidante's attention outside and felt her stomach constrict at the sight of Milady making her way into the courtyard.

"The nightcrawler returns."

"Your Majesty?" Constance turned at the barely audible comment, but she caught the bitterness behind it.

"Just a term I once heard from a courtier who had returned from The Americas. He was referring to an earthworm. It seemed a fitting name don't you think?"

Constance struggled to keep a neutral face as she watched the emotions play across her queen's face. Milady had most definitely wormed her way into the King's graces and a nightcrawler was an especially apt description. Finally Anne broke the impasse by laughing.

"My dear Constance, I must find humour where I can or I fear I may go mad."

Constance smiled in return and nodded. She knew what it meant to be a woman in a man's world and that inequity seemed to be even more exaggerated the higher up the social scale one went.

"Then perhaps we can come up with some more names that are just as fitting."

"I knew I could count on you!" Constance found herself drawn into a warm embrace as they both giggled.

By the time Constance was able to leave the Queen's chambers without being questioned, she feared she had missed her target. She would not allow her anxiety to help gather information become apparent to the Queen and she had been on edge all evening trying to keep herself calm. As she slipped out, she prayed that nothing seemed amiss.

* * *

Athos scrubbed a hand through his hair before clamping his hat back on his head. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself and looked around, trying to determine where to look next. The chill of the night had deepened and he found himself rubbing his hands together to keep warm. The memory of doing this whole thing once before kept rising and he found himself battling to squash it back down. The fear swirling around in the pit of his stomach was a formidable foe and he knew he needed to keep moving to placate it.

If what Albert had told them was true, then there was a possibility of a ransom being sought. After all, mercenaries only spoke one language; the language of currency. He had sent the man home to see if any such demand had come. It was more common that many people realised as only those with money, or the perception of money, were targeted. That ruled out an obscenely large chunk of the population, he knew. Unlike most of noble birth, Athos had an understanding of the lower classes and the trials they faced in merely surviving. As a noble, he had been targeted in just such a manner, but he also had enough resources at his disposal to deal with the perpetrator. Albert was not in the same position, although his connection to the Musketeers did put him ahead of the game.

As Athos continued to the agreed rendezvous point with Aramis and Porthos, he knew that Albert would most likely turn up too. He could not blame the man. He knew that the three of them would move heaven and earth to find their missing brother. How much more so would a father for a lost child?

It was only a short distance up the street that Athos noted the entryway to a church. As he approached, he noted the heavy doors were closed against the cold night air and he paused across the road. It struck him as ironic that Aramis had recently mentioned the feast day for Saint Jude was coming. The patron saint for lost causes. At the time he had made a joke about Jude being his favourite saint and the other three had laughed at him. Athos stared at the darkened church and he felt the depth of his emotion threatening to crush him. Life could not be so cruel that he could have d'Artagnan stolen from him twice. The last time had taken every shred of hope he possessed to keep functioning. He wondered if he still had enough left to do it again.

"I'm going over your head," he muttered. "Not stopping with a saint." He lifted his face to the sky and sucked in a sharp breath. "I don't know what you want from me. All that was good in my life turned out to be a lie. You gave me a second chance! Are you a liar too?"

Athos closed his eyes as if expecting an errant thunderbolt to strike him for his blasphemy. When none came, he looked upward again and scowled. "If you do not return him to me, I will not be responsible for the consequences. They will be on your head!"

It took a few minutes for him to compose himself and continue walking. Had he really just threatened God? It always amazed him at however Aramis managed to reconcile his life as a soldier with his unerring faith. Perhaps he needed to ask a few more questions because right at that moment he was having a hard time reconciling much of anything. He stopped in his tracks and looked up again. His throat constricted as he spoke again. "Please, keep him safe."

* * *

D'Artagnan felt the wood of the post digging into his back and he tried to shuffle into a more comfortable position without waking Juliette. She was curled across his lap with her head buried into his shoulder. Marie had finally ventured out of her hiding place and was currently clasped firmly in both of Juliette's hands. The guards that had come through earlier seemed not to have noticed that her hands had been untied and he was glad that she was at least free of that discomfort.

He had lost track of time, but knew it was well into the night when he first heard it. Movement outside the door had him tensing in preparation, although there was little he could do. He debated waking Juliette, but before he could make up his mind the decision was made for him. Lanterns suddenly illuminated the space around them and the prisoners were prodded awake. A loud voice began issuing orders while others moved in to unlock chains. For a moment he wondered if it was a rescue, but the sudden tension on his manacles told him otherwise.

"On yer feet! Now!" The length of chain was pulled taut and he felt himself being dragged forward. Thankfully he had his arms around Juliette already and he struggled to grab hold of her as he found his feet. Whoever was pulling on the chain almost caused him to overbalance and he jerked forward with the weight of the child in his arms.

Other voices cried out in fear and anger as he could tell the rest of the group was being subjected to similar treatment. Juliette had been jolted out of her sleep and was looking around in wild fear. He tried to get her attention, but found himself having to concentrate on just keeping his footing. As he was prodded out the door, he got his first taste of fresh air in what seemed like a lifetime. The moonlight was intense enough that he could make out several buildings around them, but there was no light other than the lights of their captors. He had hoped they were still close enough to where they had been taken that he could let Juliette slip loose and escape. That hope was soon dashed as he knew he had no idea where they were. If he could not discern their environment, then a small child was too vulnerable to be left alone. He would have to take her with him and look for a chance to get free.

Ahead of them were several carts and he soon found himself being shoved into one of them. With bound hands and the weight of a child in his arms, it was a difficult process to climb aboard. A guard shoved at him from behind and butted a musket into his back.

"Get moving! We ain't got all night!"

D'Artagnan hefted Juliette in front of him before hoisting himself into the cart. Other bodies were soon crushed against them and the constant clank of heavy chains became a background noise to their predicament. Suddenly Juliette tried to stand and he grasped at her legs.

"Marie!"

He pulled her down against him, fearful that she would attract the attention of the guards. "Quiet! Stay down."

Hands batted at his face and he tried to grip her wrists. "But Marie is gone! I lost her!"

He suddenly understood, that in the confusion of the last half an hour, Juliette had lost her grip on the doll. There was no telling where she was and he felt his stomach drop as Juliette began to sob inconsolably. He pulled her in to his chest and felt the tremors running through her body as she cried for a cherished friend. It was the cruelest blow and he felt sheer frustration welling up inside him at his own powerlessness. It seemed he could not even save a doll.

The cart began moving and he felt the jolt as the wheels crossed ruts in the road. They were clearly not in a well kept part of the city and he looked around, trying to get any kind of information he could glean. Eventually he realised that Juliette had gone limp in his arms and he knew that she had cried herself to sleep.

"I'm sorry," he whispered over her head. "I'm sorry you ever met me."

* * *

_A/N: Just a general question for other writers – do you find that story stats sometimes make no sense? I have found if I post more than one chapter in a 24 hour period, it throws things right out, but then other times it seems as though a whole chunk of readers have missed a chapter. Then I wonder if they have just hit the last chapter thingy and not noted that I've posted more than one chapter since they last read the story. As a writer, it's very frustrating to think that readers are not getting the whole deal, but then FFNet does some very strange things from time to time and I wonder if it's just the site doing what it does. _


	16. Chapter 16

**Sorry Sarah that I can't accommodate your request just yet. I do have boxes of tissues if you need any though. Thank you for your interest in the last chapter and for your lovely reviews and comments.**

**Chapter Sixteen**

Treville leaned against the railing and tried to ignore the throbbing in his shoulder. Aramis had virtually threatened a mutiny earlier if the Captain had not drunk the pain draught he produced. He was loath to take it as it left him less than steady on his feet, but he also knew the pain could well become intolerable and he had no option to step aside and rest. While not quite overstepping the mark, Aramis had certainly nudged at the line as he hinted that he may enlist Porthos' physical strength to ensure the medication was swallowed. Treville felt a quirk of a smile as he considered the men in the courtyard below. They were nothing if not determined, especially when it came to the welfare of those they cared about.

For the moment he was more concerned at the welfare of Athos than his own. His injury would heal with time. Below him, Athos seemed to have shriveled. After the events of d'Artagnan's disappearance once before, he did not know if Athos could withstand another such trauma.

The men milled around, finishing up breakfast while finalising the search plans for the day. Porthos had already enlisted his contacts in the Court the night before, but so far there was no news that they did not already know. In fact, the trickle of information just served to confirm what René and Albert had already told them. Somebody was playing on the fears of hardworking people and stealing from them. People had disappeared and there was no word where any of them had gone. The most disturbing part was that they had also confirmed the idea that at least one musketeer was involved in their schemes.

Treville looked at the sea of blue below him and felt sick that anybody had dared impersonate one of his men to wreak such havoc. With René holed up in his garrison, there was still somebody else out there playing at being a musketeer. It was not the desperate father who had extorted money from anybody. He felt his free hand clench into a rage-filled fist and he slowly made his way to the stairs. It was time to get answers.

* * *

Constance slipped into the shadow of the wall recess and held her breath. While she had readily agreed to Athos' request, she was still not sure of her own ability to do as she had promised. Milady had proven herself to be a cunning and slippery foe when they had faced off against her before. Her scheming knew no bounds and it was crystal clear to Constance that the woman would go to any lengths to achieve her goals. She wished she had a better idea what the woman's goal actually was, as it would help her to know what to look for. In the absence of any clues, she would take in every detail she could and report it back.

As Athos and Porthos had departed the day before, they had covered the real reason for their visit by seeking an audience with the King to report on their captain's condition. Constance felt sick at how close they had come to losing the man. Even though her contact with him had been less than the men of his regiment, she heard how they spoke about him. She knew that in his first months at the garrison, d'Artagnan had sought his approval as well as his guidance. Part of that could be attributed to losing his own father and looking up to the man, but she knew it was much more than that. Treville's influence was a sought after commodity.

Somehow, Milady seemed to be linked to what had transpired at the Dauphin's parade and it just gave Constance even more reason to press forward. She felt she had waited long enough to allow the woman to have moved away from the bottom of the staircase and she moved out of the shadows. As she made her way down the spiral staircase she kept an eye over the edge of the bannister. The enclosed basket in her hands was her only alibi if she was stopped or questioned and she clung to the handle with a far tighter grip than was necessary.

As she stepped into the corridor beneath the great staircase she barely managed not to flinch when she saw two Red Guards coming her way. Pulling herself upright and forcing herself to walk calmly, she hoped desperately that they saw nothing amiss. As she passed the two men they nodded curtly towards her and she allowed herself to give a slight head nod in response before looking straight ahead again. Two doors ahead was another corridor that she knew led to the outer courtyard and she deliberately walked past it as if heading for the far end of the palace wing. As she passed the wide corridor she thought she caught a flash of dark green and was fairly certain that Milady had made her way outside.

Constance forced herself to keep walking at the same pace, but as soon as she could she turned into an outer room and went straight to the window. Her patience was rewarded as only a few minutes later Milady rode past on a horse and left the palace grounds. The royal stables were behind the building and the horse had clearly been waiting for her. Constance considered the two men she had passed earlier and noted their names for a later report to Athos. Milady never worked alone and it was quite possible the two men had fallen under her spell as many others had before. Constance sucked in a breath as she considered again how Athos had ever come to be entangled by such a vile creature. If the way she had slipped into the palace life was anything to go by, she was an accomplished enchantress. Except that Constance could not reconcile the man she knew with somebody who could be so completely duped. Perhaps the Comtesse de la Fére was not the same woman as they all knew and despised now.

A momentary pang of anger arose from her insides as she considered that the same woman had also ensnared d'Artagnan in her games. Guilt mingled with her anger as once again she knew that she had contributed to the situation by pushing him away. Her husband's threats had forced her hand and she hated the part she had played.

"Focus!" She forced herself to push aside the emotions and focus on what she needed to do. Nobody must have any inkling what she was doing.

* * *

Based on the position of the sun, d'Artagnan estimated it was early morning. The chill of the morning was only just starting to lift and a faint fog swirled around them. It muffled noise and the only sounds he could be sure of was that the horse's hooves were no longer on cobblestones. They were on the open road and he had no idea which road or where it led to. During the night they had left the confines of Paris and his heart sunk with the realisation. The further they moved out of the city, the less the chances of rescue as nobody would know where to look.

Across the cart he could see people huddled together. The strangers he had barely connected with suddenly had faces that he could see. Each of them was covered in grime and an air of despair hung over all of them. He looked down at Juliette who was still asleep in his arms. Her face was streaked with the tracks of tears from the loss of her friend. Dirt smudged across her cheeks where she had scrubbed at her face with her mittens. He had no idea what he was going to say when she awoke.

Suddenly he heard the sound of a rider on horseback approaching. He tensed at the sound, mentally preparing even if he was unable to physically prepare. As the rider drew closer he noted the guards drawing swords. Eventually out of the fog a horse and rider appeared and drew alongside the furthest guard. He craned his neck to see who it was and suddenly caught a glimpse of her. Without realising he was even doing it, he pulled Juliette closer and tried to slump further into the cart. He dropped his chin to his chest and turned as far away as possible while still trying to keep an eye on the rider. All of a sudden, their predicament made a whole lot more sense and he felt a wash of despair roll over him.

"Where are you? You cannot hide from me." The voice carried across the space between the rider and the carts and d'Artagnan suddenly wondered if she was looking for him. He nudged Juliette awake and tried to slide her down to his side. She blinked at him in confusion and frowned as the warmth of her sleeping place quickly evaporated. She felt herself being pushed down to the floor of the cart and tried to cling to his leg.

"Trust me. Please let me go and keep your head down. Pretend you are asleep." He patted the side of her face as he gently shifted her away from him. Suddenly Milady was alongside the cart and had a pistol aimed at the side of his head. Muffled gasps echoed across the rest of the group. He stared at her and tried to keep his hand away from Juliette. He would not endanger her any further if he could help it.

"So, I see that business has continued, despite your royal pardon. I wonder what the King would make of you if he could see you now?"

Milady smiled at him, as if considering the idea. "He knows only what he needs to know about me."

"He knows _nothing_ of you! Your entire life is a lie. You are despicable!"

"That isn't what you said back at that inn." She trailed a finger down his cheek and he refused to flinch at the touch. "And this is nothing like before. There are no Spaniards involved this time. No galley ships."

D'Artagnan frowned at her as her comment made no sense. "Then what are these people for if not for the slave trade?"

Shocked gasps echoed around the cart as previously unspoken fears were suddenly realised.

"Commodities come in all shapes and sizes."

"They are _not_ commodities! They are free people whose lives you have stolen!"

"No. They are people whose families forfeited them. That isn't my fault." Milady's horse stamped its feet and danced back a little as if sensing the raw fury radiating from her prisoner.

"And what of me? My family is all dead! They did nothing. Why am I here?"

"You were stupid enough to interfere where you should not have. You really need to stop being such an avenging angel."

D'Artagnan glared at her. "Perhaps you would recommend I should sell my soul instead?"

"Whatever works," she purred as she ran a finger down his cheek again. He felt bile rising up his throat as he stared at her and he forced himself to swallow. "Now, you have something that I need."

"I have been stripped of my weapons. I have nothing else on me. What could you possibly need from me?" The disdain in his voice was obvious as he spoke and she leaned closer, while pressing the end of the pistol against his temple.

"Make no mistake … I have no qualms in pulling this trigger. Of course, your little friend there would be rather traumatised if she was suddenly splattered in blood."

D'Artagnan kept his mouth shut as he stared back at her. He watched as she waved a guard over and instructed him to remove his manacles. As the heavy irons dropped off his wrists, he rubbed at the bruised flesh.

"You need your hands free to remove that pauldron."

"What?"

Milady nudged him with the pistol as she nodded. "Your pauldron. How else do I prove to Athos that I know where you are?"

His mind was racing as he considered her words. He would not allow his most prized possession to be used to taunt his brothers. As he stared at her, Milady slowly pulled the pistol back and smirked at him as she turned it towards Juliette.

He reacted on instinct and shifted himself between the weapon and the exposed child. "No! Leave her alone!"

"Then give me that pauldron. It's a simple request."

His hands quickly reached for the buckles that held the leather strapped to his shoulder. The ornate piece of leather had been hard-won, but it was just a piece of leather. As he handed it over, the guards quickly moved in with the manacles and they were clamped back over his wrists. He fumed silently as Milady wheeled her horse away from him and he felt a hand tugging at his sleeve.

"Does that mean you aren't a musketeer anymore?" Tears welled in her eyes as Juliette considered his bare shoulder. He shuffled down next to her and reached for her hands. As she climbed back onto his lap, he pulled her in close again.

"I will always be a musketeer. She just made a big mistake, because now Athos will know where to find us."

D'Artagnan looked around at the faces before him and saw the lack of belief written there. He didn't care. So long as Juliette believed him, that was all that mattered. Perhaps then, he could convince himself as well.


	17. Chapter 17

**Thank you as always for the wonderful reviewers. You make my day when I get to hear your thoughts and you make me laugh.**

**Chapter Seventeen**

It was only a half hour or so after his men had left the garrison that the child came running into the practice yard. Treville felt the weight of his injury on top of the added burden he always felt when he wanted to be out with his men instead of waiting for their return. He knew his body needed rest, but he felt useless to be sitting on the table top, soaking in the warmth of the sun. He noted the child before he made it to the gate and was on his feet as the child skidded to a halt. He was probably eight or nine, judging by his height, but Treville knew that children in the Court could be smaller than they should be due to insufficient nourishment.

"I … I'm … lookin' for …. umm … Porthos." Treville admired the way the boy kept his chin up while clearly being terrified of where he was. His eyes darted too and fro, searching out the man he had been sent to find. The Captain moved closer with a calming hand held out in front of him.

"I'm his captain. Porthos is not here, but you can deliver any message you have to me."

The boy swallowed nervously and glanced around, as if expecting to see the shadows come to life.

"I'm guessing Flea sent you."

At the mention of the Queen of the Court's name, the boy straightened and stepped closer to Treville.

"She said I 'ad to tell Porthos where the people was bein' 'eld prisoner."

The Captain felt his hand clench at the words.

"She said they've been bringin' people in for weeks and takin' them out again. She said there was carts there this mornin'."

Carts! They were moving the prisoners and there was no time to lose. Treville whistled to one of the men nearby and quickly issued several orders. By the time the boy had given him the details of the address, he was ready to mount a horse with several men beside him. He held out a coin to the boy who snatched at it and he waved a second in front of him.

"I need you to get word to Porthos. You and your friends will be rewarded of you get him quickly to the address you gave me."

He almost smiled as the boy swiped the second coin from his hand and sprinted from the garrison.

Denier watched as his captain struggled to pull himself into the saddle. He would have suggested he stay behind while they went to follow up on the lead, but he knew the man would not hear of it. If he was in his boots, he probably would not have stayed either.

* * *

Porthos held the boy in the saddle in front of him and considered how terrified the child was. It was a long way down for somebody who had never been on a horse before. The address they were looking for was across the square from them and he was grateful that Flea had sent so many out to find him. He slid down from his horse and reached for the boy. As he palmed him a coin he felt how sweaty the child's hands were and he smiled at him.

"Thank you for bein' so brave. My friend thanks you too."

The boy cast one last anxious look at the horse before disappearing back the way they had come. As Porthos prepared to follow Aramis and Athos across the square, he saw Treville emerge from the back of the building. The Captain looked up as they approached and he shook his head to preempt their questions.

"We are too late! Whoever was here is now gone."

Athos stalked past him and strode into the darkened stable. He pushed at a rotting door to bring in more light and almost gagged on the smell. The overpowering smell of stale urine and vomit assailed his nose and he swung his arm over his face before stepping in further. He felt the others following him as he searched the area, looking for something he could not even define. As he noted the metal links bolted to the walls, his stomach flipped over in anger. People had clearly been held prisoner in this hell-hole and he wondered if d'Artagnan had been one of them. Suddenly he noted something across the room and he stumbled towards it. Part of him wished desperately to be mistaken and part of him felt a flicker of hope.

"What is it?" The question washed over his head as he knelt in the straw and reached for something he had seen before. He frowned as he considered the implication of finding it where it now was.

"Hello little breadcrumb."

Aramis and Porthos waited until he stood back up and turned towards them. Both men were sickened to see the doll that had been the source of much teasing and joking against their youngest brother.

"Breadcrumb? Is that not Marie?" Aramis swallowed down the fear behind the question as he watched Athos' face.

Athos nodded, frustration mixed with hope clear on his face. "My cook used to leave a trail of breadcrumbs to call the chickens back to their roost at night. I believe we have just been given our first breadcrumb to follow their trail." He held Marie up as he spoke and the others slowly nodded in understanding.

"If Juliette was 'ere, I'd bet my right arm that d'Artagnan was too." Porthos looked up as Treville appeared behind them.

"We need to scour the area and find any witnesses as to where they may be now. There are fresh cart tracks outside."

Athos shoved the doll into his pocket as he headed for the doorway. There would be time for her later. For now, he needed to focus on finding her owner.

* * *

A fruitless two hours followed where it seemed that anybody who was in the vicinity of the stable in recent days was completely deaf and blind. Many were also apparently dumb as they refused to even speak to musketeers. Eventually Treville ordered them back to the garrison to regroup and it was a disheartened group that made its way through the alleyway and back to their brothers. It seemed they had found a trailmarker, only to lose the trail immediately after.

The rest of the day was spent following up any possible ideas or leads that anybody could come up with, but Treville had the distinct feeling they were clutching at straws. The only hint of information that anybody had revealed so far made his stomach churn at the thought. Porthos had a Court contact who had suggested that traffickers were behind the abductions. Not the known slave traders that rounded up young and healthy, drunk French citizens and sold them off to Spanish slave ships. The whispers were that there was also a trade in other types of slaves. Poorer nobles and landed gentry without sufficient means to hire servants. If a person was taken far enough from home with no means to return, they could be forced to work in whatever capacity was demanded. They would also have no recourse to the law against any form of abuse. The idea of a child lost in such circumstances made him sick to his stomach.

Treville sat at his desk and debated what to do about Albert. He had news that no father would want to hear and nothing comforting to add to it. The only positive he had was that at least there was proof that the missing people were being held as prisoners. The alternative was that they were all dead, so as long as they held some value to somebody, they were still alive. He would not give voice to the dark thought that perhaps they had been loaded aboard carts and were being taken to their deaths. Instead, he chose to believe that his musketeer would somehow find a way to escape.

A sharp knock at the door jolted him out of his maudlin musings and he looked across the room as the door swung open. Athos strode in, followed by his shadows. In between Aramis and Porthos was Constance and Treville stood as she entered the room.

"Madame Bonacieux."

Constance pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders and looked back and forth between the men. Clearly something was wrong and the fact that d'Artagnan was nowhere to be seen made her blood run cold. As if sensing her dis-ease, Athos grasped at her elbow and gently steered her forward.

"Madame Bonacieux has some observations to share. I thought it would be easier to share them once, rather than repeating herself." Athos tipped his head towards his captain and Treville nodded as he pursed his lips. It would also be easier to contain her possible reaction to the news they would soon be forced to share with her.

"Of course. Please, have a seat." He pulled a chair across the room, but Constance seemed too tightly wound to sit down. She stared at the chair and then suddenly seemed to pull herself together.

"Thank you." As she sat down she smoothed out her dress and tried to stop her hands from shaking. Something was wrong.

"This morning, I saw Milady leaving the palace on horseback. There were two Red Guards who helped procure a horse for her. I recognise both men as ones who are in Rochefort's inner circle."

Beside her, Athos cleared his throat and she looked up to see him trying to compose his face.

"There is no love lost between Milady and Rochefort," Treville pointed out. "Why would his favoured guards be helping her?"

"It would not be the first time she seduced somebody to get what she wanted. She can be quite persuasive to convince men to betray others." The bitterness in Athos' voice made Constance flinch and she closed her eyes as regret washed over her. She had spoken ugly words to d'Artagnan about the woman and her influence over him. As she opened her eyes again she noted Athos watching her intently.

"Where is d'Artagnan?" The question rushed out of her mouth before she had time to stop it and she faltered as Athos seemed to pull back from her. The fear she had wrestled with began to choke her and she knew without a shadow of doubt that something was very wrong. When nobody answered, she looked around at the others.

"Well?" The very breath in her lungs seemed to evaporate and she rose from the chair. "Where is he?"

"We don't know." Athos stared at her, his voice inflectionless. "He is missing."

Constance felt a hand reaching for her forearm and she blinked back tears. "Since when? Do you have any idea where he might be?"

"Constance, why don't you sit back down?" The question was not really a suggestion and she felt herself sagging back onto the seat. If they needed her to sit down then things were dire.

"Do you know anything of Juliette?" It was a loaded question that could cause a complete misunderstanding and Athos was pleased to note that Constance obviously did know.

"She is a beautiful child. What does she have to do with anything?"

"To cut a long story short, Juliette's father has been subjected to an attempted extortion claim. It seems to be rather widespread from what we can gather. D'Artagnan went to talk to Albert and did not return. Both he and Juliette are now missing."

Constance's hand flew to her mouth as she sucked in a deep breath. She knew how d'Artagnan felt about the child and the lengths he would go to to protect her. He had told her the story of how they had come to meet and she was pleased to know he had found a family in Paris. She had giggled at Porthos and Aramis' ongoing teasing and d'Artagnan's exasperated responses.

Athos knelt in front of her and took her hand. "I promise you, we will find him. In the meantime, thank you for your help with your information and we will follow up on it. You don't need to do anything further and I'd ask you to stay clear of Milady from now on."

Constance stared at the anguish in his face and tried to contain her own. The last time d'Artagnan had gone missing they had been estranged and she had no idea there was anything amiss. It was not until months later, when their friendship seemed to be back on track that he had shared any of the details and even then it was only because she had seen him in the marketplace with Juliette. A shard of jealousy had lodged in her when he saw how carefree he was around the child and she had wrongly assumed he was involved with another woman. An older woman perhaps, but still, another woman.

It made her sick to think she could have lost him then while being angry at him and never having a chance to right things between them. Her mother had always told her to keep a short list of grudges and be quick to forgive. It was a lesson she had been reminded of with that whole episode.

"Constance?" The gentle tone of Athos' voice belied his concern at her lack of response. As she slowly looked at him, he continued on. "I will send an escort with you back to the palace. Please, be careful."

She barely managed to nod at him as she rose from her chair. Suddenly another thought came to mind and she turned quickly back towards Treville.

"I'm sorry, Captain. I haven't even inquired about your injury. Are you recovering well?"

"I'm quite well, thank you. Aramis did his usual fine job and I will be as good as new very soon." He tugged at the sling that still held his arm strapped in place and Constance could only imagine the frustration a soldier would feel to be so immobilised.

"I am glad to hear it."

Somehow Constance managed to contain her composure throughout the return journey to the palace. The musketeer that Athos had sent to escort her tried to strike up a conversation, but soon realised she was not in the mood. By the time she made it to the safety of her room, the dam broke and her fears tumbled free. She leaned against the headboard of her bed and buried her face in her pillow. She had no idea how long she lay there, weeping into her pillow when she was startled by a hand on her shoulder.

* * *

_A/N: For some reason, nicknames seem to be becoming a theme in these two stories. Since I don't speak French I googled it._  
_As breadcrumb it's fil d'Ariane. As bread crumb it's mie de pain! Either one could work. Ariane is a pretty name and Marie can be a royal pain when she is currently being kept from sleeping comfortably in her trailer at night. She isn't convinced about the necessity of her present position._


	18. Chapter 18

**I am not quite as mean as you may think, after the ending to the last chapter. I like Constance and would not like to see her come to any harm. But then again, I like d'Artagnan too and that doesn't seem to work in his favour. Thank you as always for your comments and reviews. They are very much appreciated.**

**Chapter Eighteen**

"Whatever is the matter?"

Constance heard the voice behind her and startled off the pillow as a hand came to rest on her arm. "Your Majesty! I …" The shock of finding the Queen in her room, combined with the distress still coursing through her and she found herself gaping as the other woman sat down beside her.

"I was concerned when you did not return to the palace and I asked one of the pages to notify me as soon as you did. He informed me that you were taken ill. I came to see if you needed a physician." The Queen reached out for Constance's hand and squeezed it. "Do you need me to send for one?"

"No!" Constance sat upright, alarmed at her complete lapse of propriety. "I apologise, Your Majesty. I did not mean to cause you any concern."

"My dear Constance," Anne patted the back of her hand as she spoke softly, "you have listened patiently to every word I have ever burdened you with."

"You are no burden, Your Majesty."

Anne smiled at her as she continued. "As I was saying, you have listened whenever I have needed to _unburden_ myself. I think perhaps you may need someone to do the same for you."

Constance reached for the handkerchief the Queen held out to her and she smiled a tentative watery smile back at her.

"I would like to think we have become friends. And friends can offer a shoulder to cry on when needed, can they not?"

As Constance raised a hand to her mouth, she considered the woman sitting in front of her. It was her job to be the Queen's confidante, not the other way around.

"I have asked much of you in my service, and yet you never ask for anything in return. I wish you would tell me what grieves you so. Is there something to do with your husband perhaps? Do you need time at home?"

Constance looked as if she would keep her tongue when she remembered that of all the people in the palace, the woman in front of her knew what it was to love a musketeer and fear for their safety, while being forbidden to speak of it. Suddenly the need to share her pain overrode her reticence to speak.

"D'Artagnan is missing." No sooner had the words left her lips than she began to weep again. "Athos told me when I went to see him."

Anne clutched at both of her hands and frowned at her words.

"Captain Treville will find him. He clearly values his men highly and I am certain he will find him."

Constance did not doubt Treville's determination, but she knew he was stretched on several fronts as well as being injured. Suddenly the Queen seemed to consider something and frowned as she wondered how to ask it without appearing insensitive.

"Constance, why were you at the garrison in the first place? You obviously went there to see Athos before you knew of this news. I was under the impression you had returned home."

"I went to tell him about Milady." She would never know what had prompted her slip, but as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew she could not retract them.

"Tell him what about her?"

Constance chewed on her lip as she carefully formed her answer. The Queen was no fool and she did not want to bring any concerns her way that she did not need to. She also knew the polished court training meant the woman could usually read between the lines.

"He wanted me to let them know when Milady came and went."

Anne frowned at the explanation, knowing it was not all of it. "He has you spying on her? What ever for?"

Lying to the Queen was not an option so Constance finally answered. "I think Athos suspects she had something to do with Captain Treville being shot."

"What?" Anne stared at her in shock. The woman who had ousted her from her husband's favour and bed seemed to know no limits in her lack of morals. It had just not occurred to the Queen that such a woman could be capable of even more heinous acts. The thought that she may be involved in targeting the King's own men could be the opening she needed to remove her from his graces. He did not tolerate anybody taking anything that he considered his and the Musketeer Regiment was definitely his. The men of the Regiment may be out of favour at present, but they were still his men. "Why would she want to kill the Captain?"

Constance dabbed at the last of her tears as she pulled herself upright on the bed. Her mind was racing along with her heart as she considered all the questions running through her mind. If Milady had targeted Treville, had she also targeted d'Artagan? If so, to what purpose?

"I don't know. I'm not sure that Athos even knows that. He was fairly certain about it though."

Anne twisted her fingers around Constance's as she considered the comment. She would need to have a word to Rochefort and see what he may know of the situation and perhaps between them there would be a way to oust Milady once and for all. She managed to hold her emotions in check and keep a neutral face as she watched her friend's face. The tears had dried up, but the anxiety was still there, just below the surface.

"Have you had any supper yet?"

"No, but I'm not sure I could eat anything at the moment."

Suddenly Anne tugged at her hand and she rose from the bed. "Then perhaps we need to have a stroll in the garden. It is always soothing out there when my mind is troubled."

Constance allowed herself to be led out of her room, with a heavy shawl wrapped around each of them for warmth. She wanted to stay hidden in the sanctuary of her room, but refusing the Queen's wishes was never an option. She barely kept a straight face as two Red Guards stepped into place behind them and she was grateful for Anne's hand looped through her arm and patting her hand as they walked.

* * *

It was almost dark by the time the carts pulled to a stop. D'Artagnan noted they were pulled off the road and hidden in a gully, completely out of sight from the road they had been traveling on. He wondered if it was a place that had been chosen out of convenience or if it was a known place where this had been done before. It sickened him to think that others had traveled this path before them and yet he knew that it was most likely the case. Sour memories flooded his mind as he recalled his time with the King and others as they had been forced to walk towards their deaths. At least this time they got taken there in relative comfort, he thought as he stared at the carts.

He observed everything he could possibly take in, hoping to find the one clue he needed to help them escape. The mix of prisoners was not like before. Last time there had been mostly men. Strong, fit looking men would make good slaves on the galley ships. This group was different. There were some men, but there were also women and some who were barely into adolescence. As far as he could tell, Juliette was the only child and that bothered him even more. She could not possibly be of any use to anybody and that made her expendable. Where he had struggled to keep Pepin on his feet during their long march, they had been willing to sacrifice the man because he was slowing them down. A useful and possibly profitable slave had been thrown away. What would they do to somebody who was neither useful, nor profitable?

Suddenly a thought came to mind and he could not decide if it brought comfort or further reason for distress. Milady had said that commodities came in all shapes and sizes. If Juliette fit her idea of a saleable commodity then at least she was worth keeping alive, but his mind could not come up with anything that could be considered even remotely good as to who she could be sold to. As guards began to move around the carts and unlock chain links from the floor rings, he watched closely as to how they looked at the child. Nobody seemed concerned that her hands were no longer bound by rope and he realised that they were so far from civilisation that there was nowhere for the child to run to.

"On yer feet!" The guard prodded at him with a musket and d'Artagnan glared at him, taking in the man's features for later reference. When he made it back to Paris, he had every intention of making sure they were brought before the King and exposed for their crimes. Assuming of course, he didn't kill the man first. He could not believe that Louis would show any clemency to Red Guards who willingly participated in the trafficking of French citizens, especially after their wild experience. If the King gave him the option to execute one or more of them, he would not hesitate to do so this time. This time was different.

Juliette hugged his side as the two of the clambered down to the back of the cart. He lifted her down and grasped at her hand as the guard prodded them forward. It seemed they would be given a few minutes to take care of necessities before being chained again and he looked across to one of the women who had shared their cart ride.

"Would you take her please?" Juliette clutched at his hand while staring at the nearby woman. "It's alright. She'll bring you right back." He nudged at her as the woman held out a hand.

"Come on sweetheart, we won't be long, I promise."

Finally Juliette allowed herself to be steered into the treeline while keeping her head turned back over her shoulder. The fear on her face was obvious and d'Artagnan felt his fists clenching at the sight while he forced a smile onto his face. No child should ever wear that look and he cursed Milady once more under his breath as he considered her role in all this. It suddenly struck him that Juliette had not said a word since losing Marie and crying herself to sleep. He needed to find a way to ease that ache before it did any further damage.

As the group was herded back together, a headcount showed that there were nineteen of them in total. Four other men of varying ages, nine women, three younger women, a lad of about twelve or so, and of course, Juliette. She had attracted the attention of every person in the group and he felt himself not wanting to let her go for even a moment. The woman who had taken her into the trees had promptly returned her and Juliette had hurried back to cling to his leg. Each of them was reattached to a heavy chain link and stakes of metal were driven into the rocks to hold them fast.

Of the six guards that had started out with them, three of them had driven off with the carts not long after they had stopped. Three guards for nineteen prisoners was not unreasonable, considering the calibre of prisoners they were guarding and d'Artagnan noted that they were at least smart enough to separate the men when they staked the groups together. If he was going to come up with any kind of plan, he clearly could not rely on physical strength as part of it. The sorry looking group that huddled near him, hungrily bolting down their meagre evening meal, was hardly a fighting force. Still, Athos had always told him to find the strengths in every situation. So far, the only strength he could see was that Juliette was free and able to move about if need be. He hugged her to his chest as she sat on his lap and he knew that he could not risk sending her anywhere, since he could not defend her if she was caught where she should not be. His mind was running through every possible idea, latching onto some while quickly rejecting others. He would not use a plan that left her exposed and until he had something better, they would just have to bear up and keep going.

The group was very subdued and he looked around, hoping to catch the eye of anybody he could consider useful. While everything in him hoped to free all of them, he knew in the depth of his being that he would sacrifice every single one of them if he was forced to, if it meant getting Juliette out safely. The idea made him sick and yet he steeled himself and resolved that she would be returned to her family if it was the last thing he ever did.


	19. Chapter 19

**Thank you so much for continuing to encourage me. I very much appreciate it.**

**Chapter Nineteen**

The gully they were camped in had steep rock sides which fortunately served to reduce the wind chill as the evening air grew colder. D'Artagnan pulled the edges of his cloak around himself, and by doing so, covered Juliette under it as well. Her head drooped against his arm and he watched her face in the slowly fading light. Several fires had been lit by the guards, mainly so they could keep a watch on their prisoners. Although they were not nearly close enough, they produced a little warmth for them as well. Nobody seemed in the mood for talking and he shuffled up against the rock behind him. He had deliberately chosen the best spot he could manage, to protect them both and felt no remorse at leaving others more exposed. At least that was what he tried to convince himself of. In theory, none of the prisoners should have been at risk as they were worth money, but he knew the Red Guards well enough to know that common sense did not always come into it.

Juliette scrunched up her face as she watched him watching her and he smiled at her.

"Louis?"

"Hmmm."

"When will my Papa come for us?"

D'Artagnan felt his chest constrict as he saw the simple trust in her face. Despite all that had happened, she still trusted him and he had no idea why. He sucked in a breath before plastering on a smile again.

"I'm sure he and Athos are on their way right now." He reached out a hand to stroke her cheek with his thumb and she leaned into the caress. "Why don't you close your eyes and sleep? You might even dream about your family." He continued to stroke the side of her face until he felt her moulding into his arms and the tension of the day seemed to slip away.

As Juliette eventually succumbed to sleep, d'Artagnan found himself being watched intently by the same woman who had helped him earlier. "You are not family then?"

"Not really. She … I suppose you could say that she adopted me." A hint of a smile crossed his face and the woman tilted her head as she wondered what that meant.

"I think there is a tale there. An interesting one if you two are anything to go by. It is not often one sees a musketeer with a child and I thought you too young to be her father."

D'Artagnan stared across the space at her and nodded. "She saved my life. Quite literally."

Nobody responded to that and he wondered if she believed him. Not that it mattered what they believed on that front.

"Do you really think her father is coming for her? And your friend? Athos? Or is that just to calm her and let her sleep better?"

"They are coming. You can be sure of it." The quiet conviction in his voice made others sit up a little and pay closer attention.

"How will they even know where to start looking?" The young lad, barely into double digits, stared at him with sombre eyes. Hope seemed to have long since drained out of them and he wondered how long the boy had been held by their guards. D'Artagnan considered the question while watching the boy's face. Something about him had been bothering him since he first caught sight of the lad and finally he thought he knew what it was. He looked familiar.

"What is your name?"

"Ahh … it's Corbyn."

D'Artagnan stared at him, as if debating what to say next. Finally he decided some hope was called for.

"Is your father's name, René, by any chance?'

Corbyn startled at the question and fidgeted before nodding his head. "How did you know?"

"Because I met your father. At the Musketeer garrison. He was looking for you and needed our help to find you." He decided that the exact details of how they had met were not necessary. He looked around the small group and smiled. "Trust me, they _are_ looking for us. And I promise you, they _will_ find us!"

By the time the various members of their cluster had fallen asleep, d'Artagnan was sure there had been a shift in the atmosphere over them. Hope was a powerful motivator and he knew that he needed to build their trust if they were going to work together to escape. He had no intention of sitting and waiting for his friends to turn up. There was no telling what could happen and he would not risk staying any longer than he had to.

* * *

Athos leaned back into the booth and stared at his glass of wine. His fingers twisted the stem back and forth and eventually he lifted it to his lips. The comfort he normally drew from the liquid was curiously absent this night. He tasted the familiar tang of the wine and it did nothing except remind him that he was still sober and thinking. Far too much.

Porthos stared across the tavern to see where Aramis had gotten to and soon saw him making his way through the crowd with another bottle. A rowdy game of cards off to their left was obviously getting interesting as it was drawing quite a crowd. Athos watched as Porthos showed a spark of interest before turning back to him and downing his own drink. He slammed the glass back on the table as Aramis arrived and without asking, his friend simply topped it up. Aramis slid back into his place and noted the strange look on Athos' face. They had been here before. Sitting in this very tavern. Pondering the fate of the same friend who was absent from the table now.

Athos shifted sideways as he reached into his pocket and felt his fingers brush against a piece of lace fabric. He had forgotten her in the time since they had returned from the impromptu prison cell. As he drew the doll out of his pocket he felt a sense of déjà vu wash over him. Memories arose of another night when he had sat with the same doll and asked the same sort of questions that now rushed around in his head.

"That little one's a right surprise with the places she turns up." Porthos pointed at the doll in his hand and Athos looked up at him.

Aramis almost laughed as he remembered how Juliette had propped her best friend up in bed with her other best friend, in the hopes the doll would help him recover quicker. Of course, the fact he was recovering after being wrongfully imprisoned quickly wiped the smile from Aramis' face.

"I can't imagine Juliette would have given her up by choice."

"Unless d'Artagnan convinced her to leave her behind so we could find her." Athos looked at the other two, knowing that the idea was unlikely, even as he spoke it out.

"The first breadcrumb?" Aramis sucked on his lip as if considering the idea.

"We're goin' to need a whole lot more breadcrumbs if we are goin' to find them!"

Porthos reached out a hand to lift the doll from Athos' hands. "Don't 'spose Juliette's got any more of these stashed away anywhere?"

"No. But d'Artagnan will think of something to leave us some clues. We _will_ find them."

"Course we will!" Porthos nodded at him as Aramis watched them both. As Porthos slid the doll across the table, Athos picked her up and looked her over again, with a strange look on his face.

"If only you could talk."

* * *

The leather was beautifully tooled and she admired the handiwork as she turned it over in her hands. She had been in the stands the day that d'Artagnan humiliated the Cardinal and bested his champion. She knew that many had expected Labarge to wipe the floor with the less experienced young man, but they had underestimated his motivation. Winning his commission and having the pauldron bestowed on him was almost secondary to killing the man who had stolen so much from him and his beloved Gascony. She had seen it in the determined stance when he charged in to defend his captain.

Treville was an old fool. He had hoped to protect his men and she could read the play as it panned out before them, even if others were blinded to it. She had been a student of human behaviour for so long that very little surprised her anymore. The idealistic young man that she had seduced and tricked into wanting to protect her had matured under Athos' tutelage. He was still far too naïve and idealistic, but he also had a harder edge to him now. She ran a finger over the fleur-de-lis engraved into the leather and smiled. How ironic that the men who were sworn to protect the King, could not protect him from her.

She crossed the room and lifted the lid on a wooden chest. As she placed the pauldron into the chest and pulled several things over the top of it, she smiled to herself. Athos would never see it and would have no idea where his protégé was. The idea of leaving him in the agony of limbo was truly delicious. Her current position of royal favour meant she was untouchable and she almost laughed aloud as she recalled Athos' face each time he saw her alongside the King. Offering false hope to the other musketeer who had rejected her was just the icing on the cake. Her true plans for the pauldron would help destroy an enemy and remove a threat to her security within the palace, once and for all. The fact that d'Artagnan and his little brat were expendable pawns in the game just added to her satisfaction.

* * *

As the Queen and Constance decided the gardens had grown too chilly to stay out any longer, they crossed the large expanse of the entryway and both women looked up to see Rochefort descending the main staircase towards them. Anne's face lit up at the sight of her friend, while Constance had to force herself to appear civil before the comte.

"Your Majesty," Rochefort bowed deeply as he walked towards them. "Madame Bonacieux."

Anne held out a hand in greeting and he took her fingers in his before lightly kissing the back of her hand. He looked up to see her face was flushed from the chilled air and he frowned slightly before looking across at Constance.

"I would have thought it would be advisable to ensure Her Majesty is safely indoors before the night air made her ill." The words held enough of a taint of accusation that Constance almost flinched at them. Before she could, the Queen stepped in.

"It was my idea to go for a stroll in the gardens. The weather will turn soon enough that I will not be able to enjoy such simple pleasures for some time and Constance was agreeable enough to accompany me."

Rochefort made a show of bowing his head slowly and smiling. "Of course, Your Majesty. I do hope the evening was to your satisfaction."

Constance felt uncomfortable as she watched the man slink away, but Anne gave her no time to dwell on it as she turned towards her apartments. "Now, I know you said you were not hungry, but after that walk, I am famished and I insist you join me for some supper."

Constance forced on a smile as she nodded in agreement. Her mind was still uneasy, but she could not allow herself the indulgence of allowing her emotions to rule her any longer.

* * *

Louis ran a finger along the length of her arm and smiled lecherously as he tugged at the lacings of her dress. The fabric barely contained her as she breathed wildly and he found himself once again falling under her spell. She was nothing like the woman he had found himself married to. He liked Anne well enough and since she had provided him with a son and heir, his opinion of her had lifted, but the woman in front of him was something else altogether. The sight of her sent his mind reeling and as she responded to him, he found his senses going to pieces. She was truly intoxicating and he could not get enough of her. As he pulled at the lacings and shifted the dress away from her, he felt himself drowning once again. Except something was wrong.

She was crying!

He had never known anybody like her and he barely managed to stop himself for long enough to pay attention. "Is something wrong?"

"No, Sire." The demure look that crossed her face drew him in even further. There was something there that made him want to protect her. A vulnerability that she seemed to save especially for him. After all, this was a woman who had suffered great hardship after her husband's passing and she had endured many things that no lady of noble birth should be forced to suffer. He reached out a finger to twist a black strand of hair and watched as further tears spilled down her cheeks. The wine he had consumed was making his head slightly muddled, but he could definitely tell something was bothering her.

"Now, my dear, I am not convinced of that. Tell me what it is that I may set it right. After all, I am the most powerful man in France!" He giggled at his own words as he considered the truth of them.

Milady dropped her eyes to the floor and made a show of dabbing at them with her fingers. "I didn't mean to let it bother me here. Not with you. I'm so sorry."

"What is it? I cannot have you this upset."

"I'm afraid … I'm sorry, Sire, but I'm afraid that I am in danger."

Louis pushed himself up off the bed. His nostrils flared in indignation at the idea that anybody in his sphere of favour could possibly be in danger in his palace. "In danger! How so, Milady?"

'I fear that I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time and was witness to a meeting that I should not have been." She fluttered her eyes as if blinking away further tears and the King reached towards her.

"A meeting? What could you have possibly witnessed that could cause you such fear?"

Milady sank against the bed as though she was suddenly faint and Louis dropped to the bed beside her in alarm.

"I simply do not understand the politics between the Red Guard and the Musketeers. After all, are not the Musketeers your own personal, elite guard that you appoint yourself?"

Louis began to puff up as he responded. "They are my own guard detail. Each one is hand selected and commissioned."

"Which is what makes it all the more alarming, Sire, when I consider what I was witness to." As she dropped her eyes to the floor once again, the King lifted her chin with his finger and stared at her face.

"I insist you tell me at once."

Tears began to roll down her cheeks again as Milady began to recount a tale of seeing Rochefort meeting with two Red Guards and discussing the death of Captain Treville. Louis clambered off the bed and began to pace across the floor, fury plastered across his face. His most trusted courtier could not be behind a plot to rob him of his own men! To believe so meant he had entrusted himself to a traitor to the Crown. And yet, Treville had been targeted and almost killed. It was no secret that the Red Guard were not entirely under control since Richelieu's untimely passing and there was no love lost between them and the Musketeers. Still, he could not bring himself to think that Rochefort was against him. Perhaps the guards had been over zealous in following an instruction and moved beyond their orders.

He continued to pace until he felt arms entwined around his waist and he turned to see his lover looking up into his face.

"I feel so safe here, with you." As she leaned in to kiss him, he felt the questions melting away and his mind telling him that tomorrow would be soon enough to deal with Rochefort and whatever the problem was.


	20. Chapter 20

**Now don't get mad at me by the time you get to the end and remember that I post fairly quickly. You can also blame d'Artagnan and not me because it was his plan. Thank you once again for your lovely reviews and comments along the way.**

**Chapter Twenty**

Muffled sounds echoed around in the foggy morning air and d'Artagnan tried to stretch his legs without waking Juliette. He was happy for her to stay asleep as long as possible because the longer she slept, the less time she was exposed to their miserable situation. He felt the ache in his back caused by the chill from the ground and he knew it would be a while before his body felt warmed again. At least the front of him was warm and he smiled in spite of himself at the sight of a tangled nest of dark curls pushed almost under his arm. Without Marie to hold onto, Juliette had resorted to grasping hold of a bunch of fabric from his sleeve and had her hands tightly clasped around it.

Voices carried across the gully, but the mist in the air distorted the sound and he could not make out the words. It was a hopeful sign that if the fog carried on over the coming days, it may be their best chance to cover an escape. His mind began ticking with possibilities as he heard the voices drifting closer. At least he thought they were coming closer as he knew that fog could also misdirect sound with no way to be sure where it was coming from. As he waited, he once again examined the chains holding his wrists. He had a length of chain between them, but he needed a way to get the manacles off his wrists. A key would be the obvious choice, but that required lifting one from a guard or incapacitating a guard. Either option was risky with Juliette close by and he vowed he would not risk her well-being to execute any kind of plan. He needed a way to get her away from him if need be.

As the morning sun began to break through the gaps in the gully walls, he looked again at the group around him. The woman, Chantal, seemed like a possibility. She'd taken care of Juliette when he asked and the child, although reluctant to leave him, had gone at his urging. He needed to foster that trust further. As if somehow knowing he was staring at her, the woman began to stir from her sleep and she blinked sleepily as she sat upright.

"Good morning," he whispered across the space between them.

"Well, I'll grant you that it's morning. Good? I'm not sure about that one."

"We're still alive. It's a good morning."

Chantal frowned at the words before slowly nodding. "If you say so." She twisted her arm across her body and tried to massage the knots out of her shoulder. "Is that little one still asleep?"

The tenderness in the question made him look closer at her face and he noted a hint of something. Suddenly it occurred to him that the woman was probably a mother, given the way she looked at the child on his lap. It seemed he had chosen correctly when looking for an ally.

"She is. I think she's exhausted. Emotionally as well as physically."

"No child should have endured what she has these past few days." The venom in her voice merely confirmed his insight and he nodded at her. "And no parent should be going through what Albert will be suffering."

D'Artagnan's head shot up at the comment. "You know Albert? Her father?"

"In passing. I know him from the market place. He's the baker there and she is his daughter." Chantal closed her eyes and tried to contain the tears that threatened as she considered her own children. "He's a kind man and will be distraught."

That piece of information helped consolidate his plan and he knew that he had chosen the right first ally.

"I have a couple of ideas to get us out of here. I need to know … can I rely on you to help when the time comes?"

Chantal looked up abruptly and studied his face intently. "Ideas? How in the world do you propose getting us out of this nightmare?"

"I don't have a complete plan yet, but I need to have my hands free when I do put things into action." He pointedly nodded his head towards Juliette and Chantal did not disappoint him, as she clearly understood his meaning.

"Of course. You would not need your hands holding anything of value while you need to work."

"Exactly." It was a start. Now he just needed to keep his eyes open and find any further opportunity that would help them.

* * *

The fear on Constance's face as she spoke the night before seemed to have dissolved as she stepped into the Queen's chambers the next morning. All sense of propriety had been restored and she was back to doing her duty as if nothing had even transpired the night before. When Anne smiled in greeting she found herself once again overwhelmed by the fact this woman had chosen her as a confidante. After all, she had no training or background that made her suited to the role and yet she had taken to it with aplomb. At first, she had been almost annoyed that d'Artagnan had seen fit to recommend her for the role. As time went on, she had been grateful that the position had removed her from a loveless home with an increasingly tense marriage. Lately, she had been pleased to feel her friendship with d'Artagnan was being restored, even if nothing further could ever come of it. She had missed him terribly when he left her home under such dark circumstances and it had only sown further seeds of dissension between her and Jacques when he had gloated over his victory.

"I hope you are well this morning, my dear Constance."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. I am quite well." She nodded in agreement with her statement and smiled. In truth, her thoughts were still in a tangle as she waited on news from the garrison, but she would do her duty this day and not falter so badly as she had the day before.

"I am pleased to hear it. Now, would you come and sit with me as I need to plan for the reception of the guild members in a few weeks and the King has no interest in it whatsoever!" The directness of the comment would not have even been considered only a short time ago and Constance once again marveled at how quickly the two of them seemed to have fallen into sync with each other. The Queen's trust in her was overwhelming at times and she smiled as she sat down.

"I imagine they could be quite tiresome at times. Especially the Drapers Guild!"

Anne giggled at the comment and rolled her eyes dramatically. "Well I have heard they can be especially difficult."

It was some time later that the two of them were wandering around the east wing, planning for the function, when Rochefort made his presence known. Constance felt her skin prickle as the man appeared at the doorway, although she could not define why. The Queen had already made a request of her and she had no option but to leave the room as he entered. As she exited through the doorway, Constance was dismayed to see a Red Guard stationed outside the door. As much as she was tempted to stay and listen, the man's presence gave her no chance to do so.

Rochefort bowed deeply before the Queen as he crossed the room. "Your Majesty. I believe you summonsed me. I apologise for the delay, but I have only just returned to the palace."

"I understand your duties keep you busy. I wanted to have a word with you about something that came to my attention last night."

"Anything, Your Majesty."

"Can you think of any reason that Milady would have to attack Captain Treville?" The directness of the question caught him off-guard and Rochefort coughed lightly to cover for it. As he removed his hand, he watched the Queen's face and knew she was entirely serious.

"None that comes to mind immediately, although I have to ask, why would you ask such a question? That's a serious accusation, even for such a person as Milady."

"I believe her capable of a great deal more than we suppose, my dear Rochefort."

The bitterness was almost masked and he noted the pain that flickered over her face. He would do anything to avenge the woman in front of him and removing Milady from the King's graces was high on his agenda. Just as soon as he had allowed enough of a wedge to grow between him and his queen, of course.

"I would agree with your assessment there. She is not to be trusted in any way."

Anne turned back towards him and frowned. As she pursed her lips in frustration he found himself wanting to wipe that look from her face and barely held back the fantasy he had cherished for so long of kissing her. He forced himself to focus and keep a neutral expression on his face as he listened.

"I have reason to believe that Athos thinks she was involved in the attempt on Treville's life. He is looking for proof and I wondered if you may be able to help him."

"Athos? He has told you this himself?"

"No, but I have it on good authority and since we know how slippery Milady is, I am loathe to share this very far."

"A wise precaution, I am sure. I will investigate discretely and let you know as soon as I have anything of use." Rochefort bowed again as he began to walk towards the door.

"Thank you. I knew I could count on you, as always." Anne smiled at the man she trusted implicitly and hoped that he would find something sufficient to convince her husband to remove the leech that had taken up residence in their palace.

Less than half an hour later, as Rochefort rode out of the palace grounds, heading for the garrison, a shadow slipped into his room and looked around for a suitable hiding place.

* * *

The ground was clearly rising and they found themselves steadily walking uphill as the guards prodded the prisoners forward. The gully continued on for some distance and a track revealed that others had traveled the same way. As d'Artagnan watched the walls of the gully continue to ascend above them, the seeds of a plan began to germinate within his mind. Nobody seemed keen to talk and the guards barely acknowledged them, except to poke and jeer at those they felt were moving too slowly.

Food rations seemed to be designed to be just sufficient to keep them moving, without allowing for any of them to actually feel their hunger satiated. The guards carried the food in large packs and he wondered how far they were expected to go before the packs were replenished. Water had been drawn from the river before they began their ascent and once again, it barely seemed sufficient for their group. He could only assume that they would soon be handed off to somebody else or reinforcements would be meeting them. Either way, he needed to act before more guards appeared and the odds became even more difficult.

The afternoon wore on and he could see that Juliette was flagging. He had to give her credit that she was walking and not complaining too much although her face was showing fatigue setting in. He leaned down to once again lift her into his arms and she sagged against him in obvious relief. By the time they stopped for the guards to allow them a drink, she was almost asleep in his arms. He nudged her awake and offered her a water skin to drink from before setting her down on her feet once again. Trying to be discreet, he slowly wandered with her until he was standing next to Chantal. He watched as the guards sauntered around the group; relaxed in their attitude as they had no expectations of trouble from a group of bound and unarmed prisoners.

It had taken most of the day to arrive at a place where he felt his flimsy plan had even a remote chance of success and d'Artagnan sized up the guards before him. If he did not act before they started moving again, he would lose his chance. He crouched down in front of Juliette and placed his hands on either side of her face. She stared at the chain that hung down between his wrists and he tugged at her face gently.

"I will be back. I promise."

Juliette sensed something in his demeanor and reached towards him, but he grasped her hands in his and shook his head.

"Stay here. Please. I promise I will be back."

As he stood up again, he saw the confusion on her face and he hesitated at what he was about to do. Chantal was watching him intently and she whispered fiercely at him, "What are you going to do?"

"No matter what you see, trust me. I'll be back. Now please, hold onto her."

Chantal saw the fear in his eyes as he looked back at Juliette and she instinctively grasped at the child's shoulders. Juliette began to follow him and Chantal slipped an arm around her shoulders, hugging her back against her thighs.

What happened next seemed to catch them all by surprise. Afterwards, she would wonder if what he had planned to happen had simply gone horribly wrong or if he had not really thought it through before acting. Either way, the young musketeer who had promised so much, was dead.

D'Artagnan slipped around behind the nearest guard and lifted his hands over his head, bringing the length of chain down around the man's chest. As he tugged backwards, the guard tried to react, but was too slow. He twisted sideways and tried to shrug off his attacker, but the man tightened the chain across his throat and he felt himself falling face first into oblivion.

Juliette screamed as the two men seemed to trip and fall before tumbling over the edge of the gully.


	21. Chapter 21

**See how nice I am to you? Less than 24 hours to give you an answer, because you pleaded so nicely. I know a few of you were hanging on by your fingernails so I hope you don't need a manicure. I need a glass of wine and d'Artagnan wants a pretty nurse.**

**Chapter Twenty One**

The sound of screaming momentarily caught his attention, before his focus was drawn elsewhere. The guard had tried to escape from his grasp, but the chain across his chest kept d'Artagnan's grip tight around him, no matter how much he struggled. The plan had always been a thin excuse, but it was the best he had on a limited timeframe and with very limited resources. As he wrestled the guard backwards, he had a spot in mind where he intended to pull the man over the edge with him. He just needed to get him facing forward before they went down.

He felt his feet slipping on the loose gravel and desperately yanked the man sideways before he felt the two of them plunging headfirst down the side of the gully. The self-preservation instinct kicked in and he tucked his face into the man's back as the two of them slid forwards down the slope, picking up speed as they went. He heard muffled grunts of pain as his protective padding hit rocks and other protrusions on the way down. Something snagged at his leg as they slid past and he gasped in pain before renewing his grip on the man's shoulders. As they continued their doomed descent, he felt his cloak ripped from his shoulders and his head was violently yanked upwards as the cord around his throat pulled taut before giving way.

It felt like an eternity before they slid to a stop and he tasted the coppery slick of blood inside his mouth. The body beneath him was still and from the unnatural angle of the man's head, he knew the guard's neck was broken. Blood pounded wildly in his ears and he felt his breath coming in sharp bursts as the adrenaline rush overwhelmed his thoughts.

"Stay still!" he muttered to himself. As much as he wanted to climb off the dead man and check himself for injuries, he forced himself to stay still. The whole plan would be undone in a heartbeat if they suspected he had survived the fall. Patience had never been his strong suit and he found himself momentarily wondering what Athos would have to say if he could see him now. Head over heart was not currently a problem. His head was disorientated and pounding wildly while his heart seemed determined to beat its way out of his chest. Staying still proved easier than he might have imagined as his body felt completely boneless anyway.

High above them, two guards leaned over the edge of the gully and debated what to do. There were two broken and dead bodies too far down the gully to retrieve either. Finally they decided that while it would mean a little extra work, their payment would now be divided two ways instead of three and that made it all worth it. The fact the rest of their prisoners appeared to be in shock would make them all the more compliant anyway. It was only another day to their designated rendezvous point and they needed to keep moving.

Chantal knelt on the ground and hugged Juliette to her chest. The child was trembling in her arms and had not spoken since she had stopped screaming. When she had run towards the edge of the gully, Chantal had pulled her back, determined she would not see the broken body of her friend. She had clearly been traumatised enough already.

"_No matter what you see, trust me. I'll be back. Now please, hold onto her."_

The words the young musketeer had spoken with such conviction arose in her mind and she shook her head at them.

"Liar!"

She couldn't tell if her fury was born from his recklessness or his failure, but whatever the case, it was clear that he was not coming back. As the two remaining guards prodded them to get moving again, Chantal found herself lifting the limp child into her arms and walking forward as if in a daze. The tiny shred of hope she had allowed herself had just died.

* * *

It felt to each of them that time was dragging at a snail's pace. Waiting on information from informants was proving tedious and Athos found himself alone in the courtyard, pacing off his frustration. He looked up at the sound of hooves on cobblestones and expected to see Porthos returning. Instead, he frowned as the horse moving towards him bore the last man he wished to see.

Rochefort climbed down from his horse and marched towards Athos. The look on his face did not bode well for a civil meeting and Athos found himself drawing himself upright and planting his feet in a defiant stance. The man may have the favour of the King, but he was in their garrison after all. As if he sensed trouble coming, Treville appeared on the balcony above them and quickly made his way towards the stairs. Before he could begin the descent, Rochefort strode towards the stairs and began making his way up to the Captain's office. Athos frowned at his audacity, but followed behind anyway. He would not leave Treville to face the man alone and so far he had not been told he was not wanted.

As Treville noted the man was not going to stop anyway, he took what little control he could and pointed towards the doorway.

"Won't you come in, please?"

Rochefort stared at him with disdain as he swept past and waited impatiently for the two men to enter behind him. Athos pushed the door closed and almost smiled as Treville pointedly walked to his desk and sat down. The slight to the Captain of the Red Guard was noted by all, while completely ignored.

"What can I do for you?"

Rochefort narrowed his eyes, as if weighing up his words before speaking.

"I think it may be a case of what can I do for you?"

Treville tilted his head sideways slightly, but said nothing.

Rochefort nodded towards his arm that was still held still in a sling. "The Queen believes Milady is behind the attempt on your life. Is this what you believe too?"

Treville looked across at Athos and wondered how the Queen had suddenly become involved in events. It was clear that Rochefort was not really fishing for information and knew the answer to his question already.

"Yes, it is."

Rochefort nodded in agreement, almost surprised at how quickly he had gotten an answer.

"You have proof to support this belief or is it just a theory?"

"We have the shooter in custody. He will testify to what he knows."

Rochefort felt his pulse quicken a little as that made his job so much easier. "It seems to me that there is a mutual benefit in seeing your _wife_ removed from the King's graces." He turned to see his comment drive home his point to Athos and smirked a little at what he saw. "I propose we work together to achieve this goal."

Treville leaned back in his chair and considered the offer. "Let me guess. You come out looking like the hero of France while the Musketeers get blamed for sullying the King's bedchamber in the first place!"

The barely concealed anger in the comment was not lost on Rochefort as the idea had crossed his mind. For now, he was content to remove a thorn in his side and get himself further into the Queen's good graces. Sharing credit with the Musketeers was worth it to achieve that goal.

"Not at all. I have my own reasons for wanting her gone and I do not care how that is achieved."

Athos stepped forward and eyed off the man in front of him. "If we help you with this problem, you need to help us with something."

Rochefort looked across at Treville, who simply nodded at him.

"Red Guards are playing games with families in the market place. Extortion and kidnapping. Ugly and illegal activities that also sully the King's name as well as yours."

The insinuation was clear and Athos allowed himself a slight measure of satisfaction at the Comte's discomfort. He clearly knew nothing of his men's activities and did not like to be made look a fool. He pursed his lips as if considering the idea and possibly about to dismiss it.

"A musketeer is missing, presumed taken by them, along with somebody else we know. This is happening, Rochefort, under your nose. Your men are running amok while wearing the uniform of the King's guard. We will help you with Milady, if you help us." Treville stood to his feet and began to walk to the door, as if dismissing the man.

"Agreed."

* * *

It was well over three hours later when Rochefort found himself riding back through the palace gates. His conversation at the Musketeer garrison had been disturbing to say the least and he needed answers. His mind was working at various angles when he was surprised to be pulled up short by a Red Guard. He glared irritably at the man, making to move his horse around him when the man held up a hand.

"The King is looking for you. He wanted to see you as soon as you returned."

Rochefort frowned before turning his horse for the nearest entry. Before long, he found himself being admitted to a private chamber with the King and off to one side, stood the Queen. Her eyes searched his face as he bowed before them both and he felt his pulse quicken. He forced himself to stand steady and waited for the King to speak.

"I need you to explain something to me, Rochefort." The tone of the Kings' question unsettled him as he was not used to being on the receiving end of it lately. It was reserved for Treville and his men as Rochefort continually made them appear incompetent.

"If I am able to, Your Majesty."

"I am the only one who is able to bestow a pauldron on a King's Musketeer, am I not?"

"Of course, Sire. The Musketeers are your personal guard and obviously answer only to you."

"Then what possible reason could you have for concealing a pauldron in your chambers?" The tone was growing icier and Rochefort felt a momentary flicker of alarm as he scrambled for an answer.

"Your Majesty? I have no such item in my chambers or anywhere else for that matter."

Louis stepped down from his seat and strode towards a nearby bench. As Rochefort looked to see where he was heading, his heart sank to see a leather pauldron on top of it. The King lifted it up and turned around.

"Then how is it that this was retrieved from your room this morning? It was hidden inside a trunk!"

Rochefort stepped forward slowly, shaking his head. "I cannot explain it, except to say that somebody has placed it there in order to cause issues for me. I am assuming somebody came to you to tell you that I had it before you sent someone to search for it. Clearly somebody is trying to discredit me, Your Majesty."

"As I believe to be the case too, Sire. Rochefort has proven himself to be a friend to the Crown and would not have stolen anything from one of your guards. Do we even know who this belongs to?" Even as she spoke, the Queen was certain she already knew the answer to that question.

Louis looked at his wife and back to the man he held in such high regard. If they were correct, then the implication for him was infuriating. If what Milady had told him was true, which was backed up by the evidence he held in his hand, then he had an even bigger problem. Either one made his head ache.

Rochefort stepped closer to the King and pointed to the pauldron. "Your Majesty, I have just returned from the Musketeer garrison where Captain Treville gave me some alarming news. He said that a musketeer is missing and I fear this may have been planted here to throw us off the trail. With your permission, I would like to return this to Treville and follow up on any leads they may have. I believe that whoever is trying to frame me is also behind the disappearance of one of _your_ men." He knew exactly the effect he was having in turning the issue back on the King, as though somebody had slighted him by daring to touch one of his men.

"Of course! I did think this was preposterous, Rochefort, that you could be party to any such plot. Keep me informed."

As the man strode from the room, the Queen decided to press her tenuous advantage. "Sire, it is clear that whoever pointed a finger at such a loyal man, has an agenda of their own and could be seeking to play on your benevolence. I pray that Rochefort uncovers the deception and the person responsible is held accountable. To lie to you about your loyal servants is to drive a wedge between you and undermine your trust."

Louis looked at the earnest face watching him and felt a momentary pang of guilt. While she could not compare to the passion he felt for his lover, the woman had proven herself to be a loyal ally in the face of many trials. He sighed as he returned to seat himself and consider his next move.

* * *

D'Artagnan had no idea of the passage of time as he lay sprawled on top of the dead guard's body. He wondered if he had lost consciousness at all as he found himself struggling to get up. He pushed himself upright and onto his haunches before a stabbing pain tore down his leg and he rolled sideways. Eventually the pain subsided and he tried again to push himself up. This time he moved slower and noted the trail of blood flowing sluggishly down his right leg. He shifted his weight onto his left foot and slowly lowered himself to the ground beside the guard. He knew that each of the guards carried keys and he fumbled in the man's uniform in search of them. By the time he got to the second pocket, he felt his fingers brush against metal and he pulled a keyring free from underneath the man's thigh. He made quick work of unlocking the manacles around his wrists before flinging the offending chains away from him as far as he could.

Next he reached underneath the body to unbuckle the guard's weapons belt and fumbled at it as he slid it around his own waist. The sword was still in its scabbard and a small dagger was sheathed in a leather pouch. At the man's back was a pistol, but he was disappointed to find that his ammunition pouch and flint seemed to have torn loose in their wild ride down the slope. He shoved the pistol into the back of his breeches and felt a little better to finally be re-armed.

Eventually necessity forced him to examine the state of his body and he winced as he looked at the wound on his thigh. At some point, something had slammed into his leg and left a ragged hole when it had been wrenched back out. He had nothing to clean it with and certainly nothing to stitch it closed. The best he could do was to bind it tightly and prevent it from bleeding any further. He reached across to the guard and awkwardly maneuvered him out of his leather jerkin before tugging at the shirt he wore. Suddenly he remembered he had a dagger and he slipped the knife free to slice the man's shirt into usable strips.

By the time he had bound the wound and managed to get himself on his feet, he was sweating profusely and blinking wildly to steady his runaway head. He pocketed the key for the manacles and turned towards the slope he had so recently descended. What had taken only minutes to tumble down would prove much more difficult to climb back up.


	22. Chapter 22

**I really think the scriptwriters needs to start paying me some cash here. Having just seen episode eight a few days ago with people being trafficked by the French, they clearly stole my idea! And I shot Treville before they did. And I gave d'Artagnan a little girl to be cute with before they did! I think they must read fanfic over there at the BBC. Some royalties would be very, very nice. Maybe I should send them a resume.**

**Chapter Twenty Two**

Athos sat astride his horse and allowed the animal to graze, while holding the reins threaded through his fingers. To a casual observer, he may have appeared to be simply taking a break and allowing his horse to rest, but his mind was sharply attuned to every shadow and sound that carried his way. He knew that further up the hillside, Aramis was hidden behind an outcrop of rock and low shrubs. His musket was loaded and ready and Athos knew that in the next few minutes, if things went wrong, his wife would be dead at his friend's hand. Aramis would not hesitate to take the necessary action and Athos felt torn in two ways over the thought. His friend would protect him and always had his back. He still knew that despite his protestations, Aramis would feel the depth of that decision if he was forced into it.

The meeting had been arranged via a palace servant and Athos had no way to know if the message had even arrived. He had briefly considered asking Constance to deliver the missive, but knew that he would not place her in any further danger than he already had. A small part of him also wondered at how the Queen had come to know about Milady's involvement in the attempted murder of Treville and he thought that he may have asked too much of the young woman. Either way, he would not deliberately place her anywhere near Milady again. Besides, d'Artagnan would have his head if any harm came to her. He sucked in a sharp breath as the thought bit into him with surprising viciousness. In an attempt to rein in his runaway train of thought and focus, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply several times before opening his eyes and blinking away the images his brain seemed so intent on.

He watched the surrounding area from underneath the brim of his hat and noted the subtle change in his horse's demeanor. Somebody was approaching. He lifted his head and watched as the woman he had once loved made her way towards him. She sat astride a magnificent horse that gave her an almost regal air as she approached. The ostentatious dress she was wearing showed that she had no concern about being seen or identified. Her self-assurance made him momentarily question his doubts. Rochefort had pointed the finger at her and was quite adamant she was the one behind Treville's attack. What nobody could yet explain was why she would do such a thing. There did not appear to be any logical reason for her attack on the man. It was no secret she hated the Musketeers and all that they stood for. But why now? The woman never did anything without something to gain and Athos had a sneaking suspicion she could well be in league with Rochefort and he had turned on her somehow. As she pulled level with him, he stared at her and considered his words carefully.

"You summonsed me?" The question was spoken with a hint of a smile, but the sarcasm was there below the surface.

"I requested that you meet me as there is an urgent matter that pertains to both of us."

Milady tilted her head and ran her eyes over his face. Athos felt the sudden need to wipe at his skin, but would not give her the satisfaction of seeing his discomfort.

"Rochefort came to the garrison. Making accusations."

"I'm not surprised. He has been caught out by the King and is seeking to protect himself. Tell me, what accusations and what does all this have to do with me?"

Athos felt the wheels of his mind spinning in multiple directions as he knew his wife's ability to twist and manipulate only too well.

"Accusations against you. He said that you are behind the attempt on Treville's life." Athos watched closely for any hint of a reaction and he knew that Anne was not at all surprised by his revelation.

"What possible reason would I have to attack your captain?"

The question was a logical one, but nothing about his wife was ever straightforward. "None that immediately comes to mind. What would Rochefort have to gain from discrediting you?"

Milady let out a soft laugh and shook her head. "Oh, come now, my dear Comte. Is it really that long since you played at Court that you have forgotten how it works? When one is in favour and another seeks to remove your favour, the best way to do that is to spread lies and rumours."

"Well I suppose you would know all about that." Athos stared at her, his face impassive, while his heart was racing wildly. She was the queen of that particular game.

Ignoring the comment as if he had not spoken, Milady tossed her head back and frowned at him. "Rochefort has been playing a power game in the streets as well. His guards are threatening and intimidating people. I have heard rumours that people have disappeared." She paused and considered Athos' face as she spoke. "I can see from your eyes that you know this to be true as well."

Athos refused to comment and she continued on, knowing full well that he knew what she was talking about.

"I was truly shocked to hear a whisper that d'Artagnan had disappeared and was not sure whether to believe it or not until the proof turned up in Rochefort's possession."

"What proof?" Athos stared at her, feeling sick to the pit of his stomach. His eyes betrayed him as he felt a surge of fear.

"D'Artagnan's Musketeer pauldron was discovered in Rochefort's chambers early this morning. He denied all knowledge of it of course, but it was hidden in a chest. How else would he have it if he was not complicit in his disappearance? And I cannot imagine such a determined young man giving it up willingly."

The words chilled Athos to the core as he knew that to be true. His young friend had given everything he had to gain that particular prize and the only way he would have given it up would have been if he were dead or unconscious. Either possibility sent dread coursing through him and he looked up to see his wife observing his response keenly.

"I have a proposal for you. Rochefort is working against me and I want him gone. He has taken something of value from you and you want it back. Perhaps together we can achieve both of our goals."

Athos felt his stomach churning as she spoke about d'Artagnan as if he were simply a piece of merchandise. "What do you propose?"

"Help me to clear any doubt about me and prove that it was Rochefort's game to kill Treville and frame me. I will help you to find d'Artagnan."

"How? If you had nothing to do with it, how could you know where he is?"

"I have my ways of getting information." Milady batted her eyes at him and tried a demure look, but Athos looked away in disgust. He knew only too well how she plied her charms and traded for whatever she wanted. "Do we have an agreement?"

"For the moment. Unless I find the truth is not what you claim it to be."

Milady smiled at him and turned her horse away from him. "You want d'Artagnan back. That is all the truth you need or want to know."

Athos stared at her retreating back and felt the urge to vomit.

She was right. He did not care how he achieved the goal.

* * *

Treville tugged at the sling he was still forced to wear and felt the knot chafing the back of his neck. It felt like he was trapped under the fabric and yet he knew his body was not yet sufficiently recovered to allow him to take it off yet. He stared into the courtyard below and found his mind churning. Porthos was yet to return from wherever he had gone in search of information and he felt the edge of concern as the man would be determined to find what he needed. As time stretched on, he would grow more desperate and take greater risks. Despite his ability to move around the Court of Miracles, he was not immune and if he pressed the wrong place, there was no telling what could result and they would never know. He could simply disappear without a trace as many before him had when they crossed the wrong person in the wrong place.

Athos and Aramis were also absent and he once again chafed at the idea that Athos was forced to dance a very strange dance with his wife, since she held sway with the King. It sickened him to see such an honourable man be treated in such a shabby fashion.

Before he could think any further on the matter, he saw a horse and rider coming through the archway and he momentarily felt his blood pressure rise. One visit from the man per day was quite sufficient to irritate him. He did not need two. As he watched Rochefort alight from his horse and fling the reins towards Jacques, he refused to move down the stairs to greet the man. It was a slight on his manners, but it felt good. He was not at Rochefort's beck and call, no matter now the man may think. He caught the Comte's eye as he ascended the stairs and a look of raw fury was being squashed back under with each step he took.

"Captain Treville! I believe this belongs to one of your men." As he thrust the leather towards him, Treville felt bile rising up his throat.

"Where did you find that?" He managed to keep a calm voice as he reached for the pauldron he knew belonged to d'Artagnan.

"It was deliberately placed in my chambers at the Louvre in an obvious attempt to throw the scent off whoever is behind the disappearance of your man." The acid tone left no doubt in Treville's mind that he was speaking the truth, but he would not admit that readily.

"Are you suggesting that somebody is trying to frame you and you are _innocent_?" The emphasis on the last word made Rochefort clench his fist around his sword hilt.

"I am not_ suggesting_ anything. I am _telling_ you that somebody has your man and wanted to frame me for it. Now who could you think of that would gain from such a thing?"

Treville felt his lips quirk as he barely contained a smile. "The court can be a dangerous place where all sorts of lies are passed off as truth. You of all people should understand that."

Rochefort narrowed his eyes and stared at the thinly veiled accusation. "If you want your man back, I suggest you help me to detain the person responsible for this."

"And what, exactly do you have in mind?"

"I have just spent time today gathering information from a reliable source." He flexed his hand as he spoke and Treville saw evidence of bruising as well as flecks of blood. It was clear how he had obtained his evidence. "As we suspected, Milady is behind the attempt on your life. She is also the cause of your man's disappearance. I know where they were taken and your best chance of justice is if you agree to help me to clear my name and place the blame where it truly belongs. On her!"

Treville felt himself stand a little straighter. "You know where d'Artagnan is?"

"I know where he _was_ and where they were heading. You will need to act quickly if you wish to pick up their trail. But first, I need your guarantee that you will help to rid us once and for all of this menace in our midst before she destabilises the Monarchy and France."

"If what you say is true, then you have my word I will help you to bring the truth about Milady to the King." He turned the pauldron in his hands and wondered what he was going to tell Athos about the deal he had just struck.

* * *

The sweat dribbled down d'Artagnan's face and he wiped a hand across his eyes, trying to clear his vision. The pounding of blood in his ear was a constant companion as he slowly pulled himself up the ravine, following the same trajectory he had taken on the way down. Each step cost him as the wound in his leg began to throb painfully, but he forced it aside and reminded himself he had the means to save every single person ahead of him. Except for the two guards. They were already as good as dead in his mind. The body of the guard he had left behind had been stripped of anything useful before he began the climb and he felt slightly sick at the idea he was clad in a Red Guard's cloak. His own was nowhere to be seen so far.

The sounds of birds in the trees caught his attention and he looked upwards. The sun was lifting overhead and the day was barely warming up, but he felt flushed and thirsty. Eventually he decided to stop and rest on a rocky outcrop. It felt good to sit down and he had to force himself not to close his eyes. It was far too tempting to stop and sleep, when he knew he must keep going. After a drink from the guard's water skin and a few minutes to catch his breath, he pushed to his feet again. A groan escaped his lips as his foot hit the ground and the jolt reverberated up the length of his leg. He knew he needed to clean the wound, but could not afford to waste the precious little water he had. It would simply have to wait.

After what seemed an eternity, he pulled himself over another fallen log and was stunned to see the cords of an ammunition pouch snagged against the side of it. The pouch had torn and its contents had spilled out. It was worth the trade off in lost time to collect up whatever musket balls he could find and he scrambled around in the dirt to find every single one he could retrieve. The final prize was the guard's flint striker and he allowed himself a smile as he turned it over in his hand. Not only did he now have ammunition, but he also had the means to fire the pistol tucked into his back. He would not have to rely on close quarters fighting with a sword or knife and he felt a flood of relief wash over him. It evened the odds in his favour and he felt a renewed sense of hope as he pushed up off the ground and resumed his climb towards the top.


	23. Chapter 23

**Thank you so much for your encouragement with your messages and reviews over the last chapter. I'm glad the characters played out in a way that made sense as I had some trouble with scripting it. I'm not sure that I'd want either Rochefort or Milady on my side any more than I'd want them as an enemy. Both are snakes that are out for their own gain. At least this chapter brings d'Artagnan a little closer to his goal.**

**Chapter Twenty Three**

Over an hour later, d'Artagnan reached the same spot where he had deliberately launched them from and he sagged onto the ground in sheer exhaustion before closing his eyes. It felt like it had taken days to reach the summit, instead of hours. He lay on his back and waited for his heart rate to settle to something more normal and his head to stop swaying back and forth so alarmingly. As he felt the comfort of solid ground underneath him, he began a mental checklist of his position.

On the plus side, he had found the flint and ammunition and felt relatively well armed. He conveniently ignored the inner warning that told him he was barely fit to swing the blade that hung at his side.

On the down side, his wound was bleeding again and blood slicked the side of his leg. He ran a tentative hand over the area and felt his hand come away sticky. The throb of the wound was the deciding factor in forcing him to his feet. He needed to keep moving while he still could.

_Stay here. Please. I promise I will be back._

His own words prompted him to gingerly climb back to his feet and start walking the way he knew the prisoners had gone. There were so many people who needed him to catch up to them and yet there was only one he really cared about. The one he had promised to come back for.

* * *

Chantal had long since stopped paying attention to anything around her. The short-lived candle of hope that the Musketeer had lit had well and truly blown out. The child dragging her feet beside her was her only point of focus as she walked. The tiny hand that grasped hold of hers was a physical reminder that she needed to keep her wits about her and her mind raged against her emotions as she walked. The guards had only let slip a few bits of information about where they were being herded to and none of it was comforting. She had heard rumours of Spanish raiders taking fit, young men as galley slaves, but her group did not fit that description and there was no indication that the Spanish had any part to play in their situation. It was French guards who had been behind everything. And that woman!

As she walked, Chantal remembered that the woman clearly knew the Musketeer. She tried to recall his angry words towards her, but her mind was too tired to manage it. Something about him kept nagging at her and she looked down toward the child trudging along beside her. Her mind wandered to her own children and tears threatened to fall. She swiped at her face with the back of her hand and allowed their faces to bring her a small measure of comfort as she walked. Robert had managed to escape and she was forever grateful that he had been spared the ordeal that young Corbyn was facing. He had also been spared from seeing his mother being treated as a plaything by the guard and this time the tears began to fall in earnest. Her body would physically recover, but each time she saw the man coming towards her, her mind would retreat in fear. When she saw d'Artagnan take one of the guards over the edge of the gully, she wished it had been him instead. At least then, her tormentor would be dead.

_No matter what you see, trust me. I'll be back. Now please, hold onto her._

The promise had been spoken with such conviction and the look of determination on his face had led her to believe him. As Chantal considered the child who clung to her hand, she felt a rage welling up inside her. Only one of them had kept their part of the bargain and it wasn't him!

* * *

Athos stared at the faces in front of him. As much as he felt the depth of his concern over d'Artagnan's whereabouts, he knew the young man could defend himself and had the skills and ability to hopefully save himself. He clung to a measure of hope that they did not have. The three people sitting across from him had no such hope. Albert and Margaux held each other clasped firmly in each other's arms while Odette hovered by the door. Even as a servant, she was clearly a part of the family and the disappearance of their little girl was tearing them apart.

"We have information on where they may be and intend to leave today to follow the trail. I promise you that I will do whatever is in my power to bring Juliette home safely."

"I'm coming with you!" Albert stared at him, as if expecting to be knocked back on his demand.

"This is Musketeer business. I cannot take you with …"

"This is a father's right and responsibility! If you do not take me with you, I will follow you anyway! I can ride well. I won't slow you down and I have an incentive to fight whoever you come across."

Margaux stared at the floor as she heard her husband's declaration. She felt torn between pride that he would take the path he was choosing and fear that she may lose what was left of her family.

Athos watched the determined father's face and knew his words rang true. If they left without him, he would simply follow. Athos nodded imperceptibly as he knew that if the boots were on his feet, he would do the same thing. The best way to keep Albert safe was to take him with them. As the practicalities began to roll through his soldier's mind, one glaring detail arose in his thoughts.

"You will need a horse."

Albert began to stand up and walk toward a bureau, before pulling open a drawer and reaching for a leather pouch. "I have money. I can buy one."

Athos raised a hand and shook his head. "There is no need. We have enough at the garrison and Treville will not deny you a horse. Be at the garrison in an hour, ready to travel."

As he rose to his feet, Athos felt Albert grasping his hand and shaking it fervently. Tears shone in his eyes as he regarded the Musketeer standing before him. When no words would form, Athos merely nodded and began to move towards the door.

"One hour."

As Athos made his way back towards the garrison, he wondered at his decision. There was no guarantee Treville would back his agreement at all and he had no wish to see a determined father thwarted in his attempt to find his child.

* * *

It was late afternoon when the guards decided it was time to stop and Chantal looked around at the place they had chosen. They clearly knew the area well and she shuddered at the thought they had done this journey before. One of the guards walked towards their group and she was relieved to see it was not the one she hated so much. All the same, she found herself pushing Juliette behind her.

"Unless you want to freeze out here tonight, we need firewood. Enough to last the night."

The previous night they had slept within the confines of the gully, but now they were on more open ground. It left them more exposed, especially if the wind picked up at all during the night. As the group began to fan out to collect whatever wood was within reach, the guard kept his musket slung across his upper arm, clearly ready to use it on anybody who was stupid enough to try to escape. Not far away, it was clear the second group was doing much the same thing as piles of wood began to grow and somebody had already lit a fire.

Eventually the guards seemed satisfied with the amount of wood and re-chained the prisoners into two links. As Chantal settled herself on the ground, she found Juliette snuggling into her side and she lifted an arm to place it around the child. Her hair was beginning to mat and what had once been long curls, now hung as knotted strands of dirty hair. The child's face was streaked with dirt and smudges showed where she had wiped at tears.

As the guards handed out what was clearly the last of the food supplies, she wondered what that meant for them for the next day. Surely they could not be expected to travel on empty stomachs and with no water. The alternative made her shudder as she considered that perhaps they were coming to the end of their journey. What that meant was anybody's guess and her mind carried her away into dark places she did not want to go.

Juliette wriggled into the woman's side and felt her head drooping in exhaustion. The cold air was closing in since they had stopped and she wished they could move a little closer to the fire. Her fingers curled up inside her mittens and she frowned at how dirty they were. Her Mama would be so cross to see how filthy she was. Memories arose of the scoldings she had received after going exploring and coming home with dirty or torn clothes. The worst problem was her stockings and how they snagged on rocks and things when she climbed. As she pulled her knees up to her chin she could make out the darning stitches her mother or Odette had patiently sewn into the knitted fabric. Her chest ached at how much she missed them. The woman that Louis had left her with was kind enough, but she was not her Mama or Odette.

_Stay here. Please. I promise I will be back._

The words echoed around her head and she squeezed her eyes shut. If she focused really hard, she could envisage his face as Louis made that promise to her. He had never broken any other promise to her, so this one was no different. She just wished he would hurry up and come back. As sleep finally claimed her, Juliette found herself once again wishing for Marie to hold onto. The idea she may never see her friend again was too much to bear and she dropped over the edge of exhaustion with that fearful thought in her mind.

* * *

Fog clung to the rock face as he climbed, but he had enough awareness to know that he was still climbing uphill. The gully was longer than he had anticipated, but its enclosed sides meant it was very unlikely the guards had herded the prisoners anywhere else other than where he was presently climbing. Every so often, the fog would shift enough for the moon to make a brief appearance and he could see the terrain had not changed much at all.

The throbbing in his leg seemed to be timing itself with his pace and he found himself having to force himself to think on other things as he walked. As much as he tried, the one thing that kept coming back, over and over was the look on Juliette's face as he left her.

_I promise I will be back._

His own words spurred him on as he considered the truth of them. It was one promise he was determined he would not break.

Eventually the gully began to open out and he found the rock face easing away to a more open space. Somewhere ahead of him he caught a glimpse of light before swirls of fog wrapped it back up again. He paused and leaned against the rock as he waited for the fog to shift again. Finally his patience was rewarded with another glimpse of what could only be a fire. His leg seemed to seize up as he stood motionless in the cold night air and he forced himself forward at the slowest pace. After all the effort he had gone to, it would not do to throw away his scant plan by revealing his presence prematurely.

The uneven ground was littered with small rocks and he shuffled slowly, hoping and praying that he would not dislodge anything. The fog muffled sounds, but he was not willing to risk being exposed yet. Suddenly he caught movement against the glow of the fire and he froze into position. One of the guards was apparently doing his job and guarding the prisoners. He had hoped that with their prisoners chained and so far from civilization, the guards would be less attentive to their duty.

As he stood still and tried to keep his leg from cramping beneath him, d'Artagnan watched the man crouch down in front of the fire and toss on some more wood. Perhaps he wasn't really guarding anybody and was just simply cold. Weighing his options, he finally decided he needed to act while he still could. He wiped a hand across his face before slipping the sword out of its sheath. The blade felt unfamiliar in his hand, but his body still knew what to do with it as the moves had been drilled into him over and over until they were almost automatic. A fleeting thought of Athos patiently drilling those same skills almost pulled him up short. Athos would not sanction him going into a fight so ill-prepared, but he also knew that Athos would never stand by and watch such an injustice come to its conclusion without at least trying to stop it. As he stepped forward, he wondered if he would ever get to see the man again.

* * *

The fog made it difficult to travel at any kind of speed, but they were at least following a road for the moment and had the benefit of a defined trail to follow. Athos felt his thoughts swirling through his head in the same way the wisps of fog swirled around his body. The sound of horses' hooves carried across to him in a muffled and distorted fashion and conversation had long since dwindled to only what was necessary.

He felt the weight of the fog bearing down on him as if it were made of lead and he momentarily closed his eyes. The last few hours had brought so much emotion with it as Albert had hurried into the garrison and Treville had reluctantly agreed to allowing the desperate father to go with them. Any doubts Athos may have been harboring were erased as he pulled a small doll from his pocket and handed it to Juliette's father. Albert had almost swayed at the sight of her before protectively placing her inside his doublet.

"You've found one of them. Now let's go and find the other two!"

Athos had no doubt that Albert was not just searching for his daughter, but also the lad that he counted as a part of his family.

As he opened his eyes again, Athos found the fog still closing in around him, but he felt a renewed sense of purpose as they rode on. He would not rest until both families were intact again.


	24. Chapter 24

**My apologies for the delay. I hate keeping readers waiting, but life is busy. I'm away for a week so the next chapter will be a little slow too. Hopefully this one is enough to tide you over for a bit :-) Thank you so much for still following along and sharing your thoughts.**

**Chapter Twenty Four**

Chantal found that despite her exhaustion, the darkness of the night hours brought very little in the way of rest. Her body ached and the chill of the rock against her back was only adding to her discomfort. The fire across from them was burning down to embers and the heat had long since diminished. The child burrowed into her side shifted in her sleep and a soft whimper carried through the night air. Chantal pulled her arm a little tighter until she felt Juliette stiffen against her. Unsure of what to do to help, she waited and stayed still. There was barely enough light to see the features of her face, but it was clear enough that she was dreaming. As Juliette shifted again, Chantal felt the child's hands grasp at her skirt before another cry of distress floated into the mist around them. Suddenly Juliette lifted her head and jerked away from her as she jolted out of her dream. The confusion and disorientation on her face was masked by the darkness, but Chantal could see enough to know the child did not know where she was. She reached out her hands and cursing the chains that bound them, she tried to bring comfort in the only way she knew how. As she drew Juliette towards her, she felt the girl trembling against her.

"It's alright, my sweet. It was just a dream. It's gone now."

As she whispered the words, she felt tears soaking into her bodice and she slowly drew back to cup Juliette's face in her hands.

"Hush now. The bad dream is all gone." The words felt foolish as she considered they were still trapped in a very real nightmare.

"I lost Marie."

Chantal felt her heart freeze in her chest as she heard the distress in the words. The idea that another child was lost somewhere had never occurred to her. Nothing came to mind as she struggled to answer.

"I lost her in that smelly place and I want her back!" Tears dribbled down her cheeks as Chantal slowly understood that Marie was probably not a person.

"Marie is your doll?"

Juliette nodded miserably as more tears flowed. "Louis said we would go back for her, but we didn't and now he hasn't come back and …."

Before Juliette could finish her comment, she found herself staring into the fog and shaking her head. Chantal looked up to see what had her attention and she almost jumped as a guard was slowly creeping towards them. The fear that gripped at her was indescribable. Once again, she felt the sense of vulnerability wash over her and if it were not for the child beside her, she may have frozen to the spot. Instead, the depth of a mother's instinct took hold of her and she felt a fierce determination arising from the depth of her being. The child had been traumatised enough and she would not allow anything worse to happen in front of her. She shuffled herself forward and tried to wedge Juliette behind her as she considered the only real weapon she had was the chain link that bound her wrists. Her heart was pounding wildly as she mentally prepared to defend them when she heard something she had never expected to hear again.

"Juliette, it's me."

The distortion of the fog meant the sound carried strangely and Chantal was not ready to relax her attack stance just yet.

D'Artagnan wriggled a little closer and bit at his lip to force down the pain in his leg that threatened to overwhelm him. His goal was within his grasp and he would not stop until he reached it. The terror in Chantal's eyes slowly eased as she saw his face and she looked as if she was about to cry.

"Louis?" Juliette pushed herself out from behind her protector and stared as if the man in front of her was another dream. He raised a finger to his lips and smiled at her.

"Shhhh, I need you to stay quiet." As he spoke, he stretched out a hand towards her and Juliette stumbled into his arms. He felt her trembling against him and as he wrapped his arms around her, he wished he did not have to let her go.

"It took a little longer to catch up with you than I expected, I'm sorry."

Chantal took note of the Red Guard cloak he was wearing and shivered at the sight of such a filthy thing on such a man. She could only assume the guard who had worn it was dead and a part of her silently cheered. She watched in shock as the young man before her pulled a ring with a key from somewhere inside his cloak and she almost squeaked as she understood what it represented. Without even thinking about it, she held out her hands and smiled as he unlocked the manacles that had held her trapped for so many days she had lost count. He eased the metal away from her wrists and slowly lowered it to the ground, trying to contain the noise as he did so. Chantal rubbed at her wrists and marveled in the sensation of freedom, even though the skin was raw underneath her fingertips.

D'Artagnan held out the key towards her and nodded across the space towards other bodies in the mist. "I need your help to free the others, but we must move quietly. We can't afford to attract any attention from either of those guards and I don't know where they are."

Chantal nodded in understanding before looking at the child that was still crushed up against his chest. She watched in amazement as he eased her out in front of him and grasped her shoulders in his hands. He licked his lips before speaking and for the first time, she could see that something was wrong with his demeanor.

"I told you I'd come back and I promise, I'll be back quickly again. For now, I need you to stay here where you are safe."

Juliette stared at him, as if the words weren't sinking in. As d'Artagnan shifted to undo the clasp of the cloak, she continued to stare blankly. Even as he lifted the heavy fabric from his shoulders and swathed it around her, Juliette still didn't speak. D'Artagnan leaned forward and lifted her over against the rock so her back was protected and before he moved back, he brushed a kiss against her forehead.

"I'll be back, I promise," he whispered into her ear before standing up. Chantal followed suit and the two of them moved away to begin setting the rest of the captives free. She noted that he moved stiffly and hoped it was just the cold night air, but her mothering instincts knew better. He was clearly injured.

* * *

Athos had always considered the time just before dawn was a unique part of the day. He had seen far too many days arrive where he had not slept through any of the preceding night. Nights where he had paced the floor in turmoil over decisions he wished desperately to take back. There had been many other days that had arrived before he was done with the darkness of the night and did not wish to see the light of day.

The chill of the pre-dawn air made his face tingle and he shrugged his cloak a little tighter around his shoulders. The night seemed to have dragged on and yet simultaneously seemed to have flown by too quickly. The miles underneath his horse's hooves seemed interminable. If Rochefort's information turned out to be unreliable or worse, a deliberate misdirect, he did not know what he would do. The thought that they were possibly wasting precious time grated on him. It had been an unspoken decision that they would ride through the night as none of them were willing to waste time resting.

Rochefort had told them the end point of the prisoner exchange and they were already days behind. If the group reached their destination first, they would be split up and disappear. The trail would most likely go cold. D'Artagnan and Juliette may never be found. Or worse, as Rochefort's information had implied, Juliette may be found. From what had been revealed, the only purpose in keeping her alive had been to keep her musketeer protection compliant. Once they reached the exchange point, she had no further value and would be discarded. If Athos knew anything of the type of men they were chasing, they would kill the child in front of d'Artagnan just for the fun of it.

Athos scrubbed a hand over his face as he considered what that would do to the man riding beside him. He suddenly realised the first morning rays were cresting the hilltops as he could see Albert's face more clearly, although the fog still hugged the ground like some kind of ethereal blanket. It would be several more hours before the warmth of the sun burned it off completely.

As they continued in silence, with Aramis and Porthos riding ahead of them, Athos noted both men suddenly shifted upright in the saddle and pulled up their horses. A moment later it was clear why. The muffled, but still distinctive sound of horses approaching had them all suddenly alert and on guard. Athos pointed towards the tree line and the others quickly followed as he pulled his horse off the road. Aramis had his musket in his hands before he reached the side of the road and moments later three riders approached around the bend in the road. Before the strangers realised they were being observed, the Musketeers had already noted that three Red Guards were riding towards them. As the guards caught a glimpse of the men sitting off the road, against the trees, they pulled up short.

Athos nudged his horse forward and looked over the three men intently. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, except for the fact he knew that Rochefort had already implicated Red Guards.

"What's this? A Musketeer ambush?" The guard in front sneered at them as he stared back at Athos.

"An ambush would imply we knew you were coming this way." Athos refused to allow his voice to rise. "Which means you were expected to be traveling this route."

The guard glared at him, weighing up his response. "These are free roads. We are free men."

"These are the King's roads and you are in the King's service. The Captain of the Red Guard informed us you would be returning this way."

The three men shifted uncomfortably at Athos' revelation. If Rochefort knew where they were, then the game was up. The fact a musketeer was amongst the prisoners spelled a date with a noose for each of them if the men in front of them caught up with the prisoners. A whispered exchange was followed by a moment of silence as each group considered each other.

Athos pushed his horse forward towards the men. "If you help us to find the people we are searching for, I will ask the King to spare your lives. If you lie to me, and just one of them dies, I will hunt you down myself and separate your heads from your shoulders."

The guards looked at each other in frustration before one of them, the youngest of the three, broke ranks. He held up a hand and shook his head vehemently.

"We was only followin' 'er orders!"

Athos felt his hand clench around the pommel of his saddle as he knew instantly who was being referred to.

"Whose orders? You answer to Rochefort and the King!"

"Well when you are the King's mistress, you've got more clout than Rochefort does!"

Aramis watched as Athos kept his shoulders squared, but he knew what must be burning in his heart.

"Milady de Winter? Red Guards take orders from her now, do they?"

Knowing they had trapped themselves and feeling outnumbered, the three men shifted uneasily in the saddle. No matter how they spun the story, they had acted against protocols and money had changed hands. The Musketeer staring into their souls clearly knew all of that. None of them answered and Athos slowly reached into his saddle bag to draw out a piece of parchment.

"I have a map here. All of the details of where the prisoners are being taken and where the meeting place is. You will draw me a mud map of the same information. If they match, you are telling me the truth and I will allow you to live. Change just one small detail and I will see to it that none of you see the sun set tonight."

The chill in the words matched the chill in the air and before long, all three men were sketching details into the dirt of the road. Athos slid from his horse and stood behind them while Aramis' musket did not shift from the crook of his arm.

By the time they were done, the three of them were fully expecting their execution by the side of the road, but Athos surprised them.

"Return to Paris. Give yourselves up to Rochefort and he will imprison you. He will want you alive as evidence against Milady. When we return, if the prisoners are still alive, I will see to it that you get a King's pardon for your crimes and you will be free to live. Alternatively, if you choose the coward's route, rest assured that if we ever see your faces in Paris again, your lives are forfeit."

Porthos clenched his fists as he considered what Athos was doing, but he knew it was the only choice they had. The men had not attacked them and to kill them now would be murder. The idea that they could escape punishment grated against his honour, but the urgent need to find d'Artagnan and Juliette overrode any idea of hauling them to Paris himself. Athos was right.

As the men hastily scrambled onto their horses and galloped away, Aramis pointed to the parchment in Athos' hand.

"Where did you get a map?"

"From them." Athos climbed onto his horse and stowed the piece of parchment in his saddle bag. "This is a letter from Treville in case we needed to prove our credentials to anybody where the Red Guards have tainted the name of the Musketeers. After all, they have faked musketeer involvement before in this whole sorry saga."

Porthos felt a smile tugging at his lips as he watched Athos kick his horse into a canter. He quickly followed suit and felt a renewed sense of hope rising.


	25. Chapter 25

**My apologies for the long delay, but I have been away and other things have gotten in the way of writing. Anyway, thank you to those who have stuck around and I hope this was worth waiting for. I'd love to hear what you think.**

**Chapter Twenty Five**

As the two of them crawled slowly between the sleeping bodies and gently shook each one awake, d'Artagnan clamped a hand over each mouth that was poised to scream or challenge them. One of the women bit into his hand before Chantal managed to calm her fear that he was not a red guard. He rubbed at the tender skin while shushing her attempted tearful apology. Each time they unshackled someone, they had to repeat the same set of instructions.

Stay lying down. Don't try to run. We are stronger as a group and with the element of surprise.

It proved more difficult than he had hoped to keep some of the prisoners contained as fear drove their thinking and a chance at freedom was simply too enticing.

As they moved further away from where he had left Juliette, d'Artagnan felt his own fear creeping up. Would she stay put? Or would she try to help them? He shoved the questions down to deal with them later and continued to ease himself across the damp grass. His leg burned with fire every time he shifted and he had to force himself to contain the moan of pain that tried to escape each time. By the time they were almost half way through the group, their luck ran out.

The sun's rays were beginning to illuminate the small clearing and d'Artagnan shook Chantal's arm as he spotted a guard coming towards them.

"I'll keep him occupied while you release the rest of them. Try to keep quiet so we don't alert the other one, but just hurry!"

He looked around at the motley collection of gaunt faces and knew that he had very little in the way of help on his side. He had the only weapons and he slowly raised himself to his feet. He itched to pull the pistol from behind him and simply fire it, but every minute that he could give Chantal, meant another prisoner was freed.

At first, the guard assumed the lone figure was the second guard, until he got closer. As understanding dawned, he rapidly unsheathed his sword and called for his friend.

"Adrien! Get over here now! He's releasing the prisoners!"

The first guard yelled over his shoulder while keeping his face turned to where d'Artagnan was slowly circling him. He pulled his sword from its sheath and stepped sideways as he watched the sword pointed his way. In seconds, the other guard was beside him and the two of them faced off against the musketeer they had believed was dead. His hand was clearly shaking as he held a pistol pointed at them with one hand and his sword ready for use in the other.

"You don't look so good," the first one taunted. "Even if you kill us, there'll be more coming this afternoon. This is the collection point and you aren't getting out of here alive. Might as well quit now before we kill you!"

D'Artagnan forced his arms straight as he felt sweat dribbling down the side of his face. He had a fair idea how he must look and knew their comments were valid. He just needed to give Chantal as much time as possible and his mind was scrambling for strategy.

"And there are musketeers on their way here, as we speak. If I were _you_ …. I'd run!" The tone of his voice turned soft and icy. "There won't be any mercy for you when they catch up with you. Musketeers don't take kindly to men who hurt women and children!"

D'Artagnan envisaged Athos' face when he heard about the extortion ring and he had no doubt the men before him would die when his friends caught up to them. It was just a question of whether or not he was still alive to witness it.

His concentration was lagging and somehow, one of the men had shifted while he wasn't paying attention. Before he knew it, one of them came at him from the side and one from the front. He spun sideways to deflect the attack and fired into his peripheral vision. Aramis would have clipped him over the head at how far wide the shot carried and he threw the pistol aside to focus on his sword work.

Juliette huddled against the rock and pulled the dank cloak around herself. The sound of a shot being fired startled her and she clambered to her feet. Louis had told her to stay put, but it seemed that nobody was coming back and she was terrified of staying alone where she had been left. Her fingers could not undo the metal clasp around her neck so she wriggled her head underneath the heavy cloak and managed to shimmy out from underneath it. As it sagged to the ground, she hesitantly moved toward the sounds of metal clanging against metal. She had seen Louis practicing in the garrison yard and the noise frightened her. The intensity on the men's faces as they lunged at each other always stirred fear inside in her and she hated seeing her friend's face looking so stern. She much preferred when he smiled. Somehow, she pushed herself forward and was horrified to see there were two of the guards attacking her friend on either side.

D'Artagnan pulled the dagger from his belt and circled slowly against the two men, hoping to find some advantage he could press. The manic grins on their faces made his stomach turn sour and he tightened his grip on his weapons. He had no idea how far Chantal had traveled with the key and was suddenly startled when something flew at one of the guards from behind him. Another projectile lobbed over his head and the guard to his left cried out in pain as another rock bounced off his head. D'Artagnan took advantage of the lapse in his concentration and lunged forward with his sword. The guard parried against the thrust and forced his desperate attacker backwards. D'Artagnan sensed another swing coming his way and he stumbled back, hoping to draw the man away from the group.

More rocks and branches began raining over his head at the guards and d'Artagnan sucked in a breath of relief to know he had somebody at his back. The sword felt heavy in his hand and he tightened his grip on it before feinting left. The nearest guard followed his movement and as another rock bounced off his jerkin, d'Artagnan surged forward. He felt the rush of adrenaline coursing through his body and he drew strength from some unknown reserve as he plunged the tip of the sword into the guard's midriff. The man stared at him in shock as he wrenched the sword free and he stumbled backwards when the weight of the man's body shifted and fell away.

The momentary adrenaline was gone before he knew it and he felt himself sagging to his knees. Voices carried from behind him and even though he could not make out the words, he could hear the sound of warning in the shouts. There was nothing left but the instinct he had been born with and d'Artagnan rolled sideways, narrowly avoiding a death strike from the second guard's sword. Fire roared through his leg as his weight came down on it and his vision began to swim alarmingly. He shook his head to clear the view and saw the man approaching him as if stalking a wounded stag. The grin on his face was unnerving and d'Artagnan struggled to recall what to do next. His body was screaming at him while his mind seemed to be shrinking in on itself. He could hear Athos' voice shouting in his head to get on his feet, but his body just would not comply. As the guard continued towards him, the world seemed to slow and almost stop. The blood pounding in his ears silenced all other sounds and he felt the edges of his vision greying out. With one last shred of effort, d'Artagnan forced himself up onto his feet and swayed as he held out his sword.

Juliette reached the edge of the clearing and saw people milling around as they scrambled to get free of their bonds. She peered through the group, looking for one person. When she could not see him, she pushed her way forward and somebody grabbed at her shoulder. She whimpered in fear and spun around to see the boy who had been chained near them. He was shaking his head at her and saying something, but her mind was drawn to her search.

As she tried to shrug off his restraining hand, a shot echoed through the air. A sickening chill flooded through her and the boy grasped at her hands. Juliette wrenched her hands free and ran forward before somebody else grabbed at her and stopped her. As she struggled to free herself she could hear the sound of sobbing up ahead.

Chantal stared at the pistol in her hands. The smell of powder still lingered in the air and her nose wrinkled at it as it drifted towards her. She felt her hands beginning to tremble and as she looked down at the weapon, it seemed to be slicked red with blood. As the enormity of what she had just done registered in her mind, she flung the weapon away from her and stared at the body lying on the ground, only a few feet away. A dark stain spread across his back and his body lay deathly still. It struck her as fitting that one guard's weapon had been used to fell the other. The man who lay before her had tormented her and deserved to die for his crimes. Even though she had dreamed of being the one to deliver justice, she had never thought she had it in her to do so. If it had not been for the prospect of him killing the young musketeer who had come back to rescue them, she doubted she could have pulled the trigger. Her mind closed down at the questions that began to flood through her and instead she stumbled forward to where d'Artagnan had fallen.

Juliette pulled herself free of the hands that held her and ran forward. Tears streaked her face as she could see that Louis had fallen and something tore at her mind. He couldn't be dead!

"Louis! Louis!" As she reached Chantal's side, Juliette was overcome with relief to see he was staring back at her. His face was drawn in pain, but he was alive.

"Thought I told you to stay put." The words came out through gritted teeth as d'Artagnan reached for her hand. Juliette dropped down beside him and rubbed at the tears on her face with her free hand. She felt him squeeze her hand and the warmth and strength in it gave her reassurance once again.

Chantal looked up to see others coming toward them and was relieved when Yves appeared. He had been at the back of the chain and was one of the last to be freed. As he knelt down beside her she could see the concern on his face and she smiled at him.

"He's wounded. We need to find help for him."

Yves looked around the open space and frowned in frustration. He'd seen the young man limping and knew he was injured. As he reached down to see the extent of it, he was shocked at how much dried blood was spread down the leg of his breeches. A filthy bandage was strapped around his thigh and he hesitated to remove it. As he looked up again at Chantal, he inclined his head towards Juliette.

"She don't need to see this."

Juliette looked at the two adults staring at her and she clamped both hands over her friend's arm. As she sucked in her bottom lip, Chantal was once again struck by the bond between the two of them. She slowly reached out a hand to brush back the wisps of hair on the child's face and she finished by cupping her hand under the girl's chin.

"Sweetheart, I need you to come with me and see if we can find anything to help bandage his leg better."

Juliette began to object, but Chantal stood up and tugged at her hands, giving no room for disagreement.

"Go." The single word startled her and she turned back to see Louis nodding at her. She climbed to her feet and allowed Chantal to steer her away, while looking back over her shoulder. Yves leaned down and spoke something she couldn't hear as he began to unwrap the filthy rag from her friend's leg.

D'Artagnan felt the fire clawing at his leg as the man shifted the bandage he had wrapped around himself days ago. He knew what Yves would find. He could feel death creeping through his body as infection took hold of him. It didn't matter because he had done what he set out to do. The captives were freed and would make it back home. Juliette would make it back home.

Yves was stopped half way through the job when a hand snaked up and grasped at his shirt. He looked down to see pain etched across the young man's face and knew he was causing it by his actions.

"Promise me something." The words held an edge of desperation and he struggled to stop himself from frowning. D'Artagnan gripped onto his shirt and licked at his lips.

"Promise me that you will get her home to her family."

Yves nodded at the request. "We are all getting home, together!" It was meant to be an encouragement, but it drew anger instead.

"I know what you'll find under that bandage. If you need to leave me behind to get her home … do it!"

The last of his reserves had been drained and d'Artagnan sagged back to the ground. His fist tried to stay connected, to reinforce his demand, but finally his fingers slipped and his hand flopped to the ground.

"Promise me!" The words were a last-ditch gasp and he stared at the eyes that hovered over him. He felt his world tilting sideways as the man slowly nodded at him.


	26. Chapter 26

**Thank you as always to wonderful readers and reviewers. I very much appreciate hearing from you. Sorry this is going a bit slower at present, but life is busy and I'd rather post slower than post sub-standard chapters.**

**Chapter Twenty Six**

Porthos chewed on the hardened strip of beef as he rode and tasted the salted meat as it rolled around in his mouth. He had long ago come to know the necessity for travel rations, but he had never grown to like them. He had spent far too many nights as a child feeling the effects of hunger on his body and he would always appreciate anything that filled his belly, but he would much prefer a hearty stew to the piece of leather he was trying to swallow. He glanced across to see Aramis having the same issue and he smiled before the smile quickly slid off his face. In their haste, there was no time to stop and start a fire to cook anything for the midday meal. If they had not needed to rest the horses, he knew that Athos would not have stopped at all.

A few paces in front of him, Athos' shoulders showed the strain of their desperate ride. He'd seen it the night before when they had finally pulled off the road to rest their horses and catch a few hours of sleep themselves. Athos had wanted to pace, impatient to get moving again. Instead, a few well-placed words from Aramis had forced him into his bedroll, pulling his cloak tightly about himself, although Porthos was none too sure if he had gotten any actual sleep. The winter snows were not far off and the chill in the air was barely affected by the fire they had stoked up. As Porthos watched his friend trying to keep himself in check, Athos had been watching Albert. The desperate father sat propped against a log and stared into the depths of the flames. His hands curled around a small rag doll and he absently stroked her hair. Athos found himself staring at that same doll and his mind wandered to a night months before where he had held it in his hands. She had not been able to provide any kind of wisdom then and he had almost tossed her aside. Something about her had stopped him from doing that and he wondered again at the simplicity of a child's plaything and how she spoke volumes without ever uttering a word. His mind trailed off to where her owner might be, along with her avowed protector.

The thoughts that came to mind first went something along the lines of how foolish his young friend had been to fall prey to red guards. An instant later, his own heart berated him as he knew foolishness had nothing to do with it. D'Artagnan charged at life with his heart in the front and no matter what Athos had tried to do to temper that, the young man could no sooner change his nature than change the colour of his skin. Athos had slumped down in his bedding as the thought that overrode everything was that he would not want him to change. Not for one minute. D'Artagnan had not fallen prey to anything. He had chased after an innocent child who needed him. Athos could not fault the depth of honour that Alexandre d'Artagnan had instilled in his son and once again he felt pride welling up within him, waging war with the fear that was already well entrenched there.

Now they just needed to find them before anything else happened and before the snows caught them out on the road.

Albert stared at the doll in his heads and found his mind conjuring up images of his daughter. She loved Marie from the moment she had unwrapped the doll from her wrappings the Christmas before last. Margaux had stitched her at night when the child was asleep and Albert knew how much love had been sewn into every stitch. He gripped the doll to his chest as if somehow he could reach out across the chasm between him and his child and draw her back to him. He felt hot tears pricking at his eyes and he squeezed them shut. He would not cry for his daughter. Grief would _not_ be a part of his future. He _would_ find her and bring her home to her mama.

As Porthos had watched the two men, he had been struck by the similarities between them. Neither would stop until they brought home the one they were seeking. As he'd glanced across at Aramis, he noted his friend observing as well. None of them would stop.

By the time he found himself chewing at a dried strip of beef and chasing his friend along a winding stretch of road, Porthos knew that time was against them and he felt a renewed sense of urgency rising up through his gut. Marie needed them to ride faster. For that matter, so did Albert and Athos.

* * *

D'Artagnan watched as Chantal tugged Juliette away from him and he felt himself sagging in relief. The child continued to watch over her shoulder until she was unable to and he tried to smile at her. It took every ounce of energy he possessed to keep himself from simply falling back to the ground and allowing the darkness to claim him. It took a moment for him to register that Yves had begun to tug at the bandage again, but as a bolt of agony shot up his leg, he found his breath seizing in his lungs.

"Sorry," the man muttered as he pulled away the ragged piece of cloth from an even more ragged wound. "This needs cleaning and we haven't got much water."

His words were meant for his own ears only, but as he looked back up, he saw the young musketeer staring at him.

"No time."

"Of course we've got time. I'll send somebody down with a water skin. There's water at the bottom of that ravine."

"No!" D'Artagnan forced himself up onto his elbow. "You didn't hear them! There's more guards coming this afternoon. We need to put as much distance as we can between us and them."

Yves waivered as he considered the new threat and weighed it against the obvious need right in front of him.

"Get me up. We need to get out of here."

By the time Chantal returned with a fresh strip of bandage, torn from someone's petticoat, she knew she had walked into a battle of some sort. Yves looked like he was going to argue about something, while the young man on the ground struggled to get up. She had caught the last of the words and knew he was right. There were more of those animals on the way and the only advantage they had was whatever distance they could put between them.

"At least let me bandage that leg first, before it starts bleeding again."

She reached down and laid a hand on his shoulder as d'Artagnan watched her face. She smiled wearily and nodded as if he had spoken. Without waiting for him to agree, she simply went to work on wrapping the cloth around his thigh and tried not to wince as she noted the sour smell of infection. As she glanced up at him, she could see that he knew as well as she did what she was hiding back under the strip of fabric. It was all she could do to swallow back her tears as she reached out a hand to help him stand up. Yves tugged at his other elbow and between them, they soon had the young man on his feet.

Juliette shuffled on the spot, impatient to see what was going on and somehow knowing that she was being blocked from something important. She kept a hand clamped over her mouth, trying to stop her lip from trembling. Louis looked strange as he took a step towards her. His face was scrunched up and she chewed on her lip as he moved closer to her. She wanted to run and grab hold of his hand, but his hands were otherwise occupied holding onto the shoulders that held him upright.

He pointed towards the pistol that Chantal had flung aside earlier.

"We'll need that."

The words were clipped and dull and one of the women whose name he couldn't recall stepped forward and tentatively lifted it off the ground. She held it as if it would turn and bite her at any moment.

"And that. I know." Yves had already seen the sword laying nearby. "And his weapons." He nodded toward the guard's body behind them. Others moved to strip the two bodies of anything of use, including the heavy cloaks. D'Artagnan noted that Juliette was no longer wearing the cloak he had wrapped her in and he frowned slightly.

"We need to get the other cloak I was wearing. It's back over there by the rocks." He inclined his head the way he had come and somebody else scrambled over the rock to retrieve it. As Chantal and Yves held him propped up, d'Artagnan found his voice returning. He lifted his head and surveyed the group before him, feeling a sinking doubt that he could really manage the next stage of his cobbled-together plan. Somewhere within him he felt the stirring of words that Athos had spoken over him. The wash of emotion caught him by surprise and he blinked to clear his head.

"Listen up. We don't have a lot of time before more guards show up to meet us. We need to move from here. Gather up anything that is of use. Make sure we get those water skins and any cloaks or weapons. We need to find a town and get help."

_Before I die._

The words cut across his speech and he sucked in a sharp breath. Juliette edged closer as she stared intently at his face. He wanted to say more, but didn't trust himself to hold it together any longer. His leg was burning and his body ached from the short-lived fight with the guards. What would have amounted to nothing more than a dull ache in the practice yard, felt like a torrent of abuse as his body reminded him how bruised and battered he really was.

As the group began to gather up what they could find, Yves leaned closer. "Where do you suggest we go? We can't continue that way or we'll run into guards. If we return that way, they will simply follow us and overtake us. They will surely be moving faster than us."

D'Artagnan chewed on his lip as he considered what he already knew. "We turn east. That canyon opens up not far back from here. We take an unexpected trail and hopefully they will continue back towards Paris. There are villages out that way. We'll find help. Somebody who can get us all home."

"Then at least let me send somebody to fill those skins and they can catch up with us. We need water!" Yves pushed the point because he had no guarantee they would find water anywhere else, any time soon.

D'Artagnan nodded at him before pointing back the way they had come. "We need to get moving. As soon as possible. Send someone for water, but we need to move!"

Yves frowned at him as he spoke. It was only the presence of the child in front of him that forced him to hold his tongue. He agreed with the theory of the plan except for one small detail. The area where the canyon opened up to the east was not going to be a simple stroll in the woods. It was a wooded slope that would require them to climb. He glanced down at the fresh bandage Chantal had tied around the musketeer's leg and wondered just how far the young man would make it up the slope. He found his earlier promise ringing in his ears as they eventually began their trek back down through the gully. He grasped hold of the hand that gripped at his shoulder and vowed that for as long as he could, he would not let it go.

The child settled into step beside them and she alternated between picking her steps and watching her friend intently. Fear shone in her eyes and Yves found himself desperately wanting to wipe it away. Thoughts of his own family spurred him on and he found a new wave of determination welling up within him. This child and her guardian would be safely returned to their families or he would die trying.


	27. Chapter 27

**Thank you again to wonderful reviewers and for your lovely comments. I wish I had more writing time, but this is being squeezed in around a few other things, sorry!**

**Chapter Twenty Seven**

The morning sun had finally burnt off the last of the fog around midday as they approached the slope. Chantal looked into the sky and wondered at the clouds she saw gathering. She clutched her filthy wrap around her and shivered as she noted the shape and colouring of the clouds. There was snow in those clouds.

A short way ahead of her, she watched as Yves and Corbyn dragged their young rescuer along and kept him from stumbling. It was him who had insisted on the pace they were keeping, but she could see he was struggling to maintain it. Part of her wanted to call a halt to their caravan and rest and another part of her knew the clouds overhead were not going to do them any favours by the end of the day. She gripped onto the small hand wrapped inside her own and tried to contain a nagging voice of fear.

"We need to stop for a rest."

Yves twisted over his shoulder and nodded. D'Artagnan heard the words, but looked towards the slope ahead of them.

"We need to get out of this gully first. Those guards are going to be coming for us and soon enough they'll find we are gone."

Chantal moved in to stand in front of the trio and tugged Juliette with her. She noted the rest of the group had come to a halt behind them and had shuffled up to hear the conversation. Murmuring voices carried across to her, but she couldn't catch any words.

Despite his wishes, Yves maneuvered d'Artagnan onto a rocky ledge and forced him to sit down.

"You need to rest."

D'Artagnan leaned over and nodded towards the slope. "I'll rest at the top of that! We need to get moving. Our pace has been slow enough already."

"Why are we goin' up that way anyway? It'd be a whole lot faster goin' downhill back through the way we came." The woman who had spoken had her hands on her hips and stared at them. "Climbin' that don't make no sense if we are in a hurry to get away."

D'Artagnan stared back at her and managed to resist the urge to shake his head at her. "Those guards are fresh and will be on horseback. They'll catch us in a gully we cannot get out of. We can't defend ourselves well enough. We need to get out of this death-trap and that's the best way." He hooked a thumb towards the sloped area and waited impatiently for her to respond. It wasn't as if he could force them to listen, but he hoped sense would prevail.

The woman nodded towards Juliette as she spoke. "I thought you kept promising 'er that those musketeer friends o' yours are on their way. We'll be defended by them, won't we?"

The question was more of a challenge than a question and d'Artagnan felt his gut twist. He had no doubt his brothers would come after him. He just wasn't sure it would be soon enough to save them from the guards he knew were also coming. He glanced across at Juliette and smiled at her. He needed her to keep trusting, even as his own doubts chewed at him.

"They're coming. But in the meantime we need to be smart. Smarter than those guards and stay alive until my friends get here." Doubt clawed its way up his spine as he considered the odds of his friends even knowing where to start looking for him. It had mostly been for Juliette's sake that he had been so insistent. He needed her to feel assured that she would get home. The idea of a rescue party had buoyed all of their hopes and he had almost allowed himself to believe it too.

Chantal glanced at Yves and saw the frown on his face matched her own. There was nobody really in charge and each of them could choose as they pleased.

"Well I'm climbing out of here."

D'Artagnan smiled at her as she planted her feet in a defiant stance.

"Who's with me?"

More muttering and half-heard comments floated across as the various ex-prisoners considered their position and options. The woman who had first challenged them pointed back down the gully.

"I'm goin' that way. I'll let your friends know where you are, once I see 'em."

Without waiting for further argument the woman grabbed at one of the water skins on the ground and looked around as if half expecting somebody to take it from her.

"Give her a cloak."

"What?" Yves looked across at d'Artagnan and shook his head.

As a couple more joined her, the rest of the group seemed torn. "She has a waterskin and they'll need a cloak."

He pushed himself upright off the rock and wobbled slightly before stepping forward. "I pray I'm wrong, but I think you'll be needing this too."

The woman blinked in surprise as he held out the dagger from his belt. She had never used a weapon in her life and the enormity of her decision began to sink in. When she made no move to take it, d'Artagnan moved closer.

"It gives you a chance." The words were soft and low and she looked into his eyes as he spoke. Instead of the anger she had expected, she found something else. Pain? It was clear he was in physical pain, but her breath caught in her throat as she saw something more. Brushing it aside, she grasped at the weapon and nodded in thanks.

Chantal watched as more of the group hurried down the gully after their new leader. Her heart pounded in her throat as she watched them leave, feeling the weight of dread settle over her. It was only the voice of the musketeer behind her that drew her out of her reverie.

"We need to get moving."

For the better part of an hour, each of them climbed up the rocky slope, finding handholds in whatever way they could. D'Artagnan felt as though a knife was being ground into his leg with each movement and he soon found himself sweating profusely. He paused to brush a hand across his eyes to wipe away the sweat and watched as Juliette scrambled up the rock face a little ahead of him. The next few minutes seemed to slow to a crawl as he watched the child slip on the rock and begin to slide towards him. His reflexes felt sluggish and by the time he had registered what was happening, Juliette was almost level with him. He heard her cry out in fear as she scrabbled against the rock to find something to grab hold of and found nothing. Suddenly he jolted to his senses and grasped at her arm as she almost slid right past him.

By the time his mind had caught up with his body, Juliette was already clinging to his neck and he had his arms wrapped firmly around her. She was trembling in fear and he found himself stroking her hair and muttering something soothing over her head. The sound of stones bouncing off the rocks below sent a spike of fear running through him and he tried not to consider how close he had come to watching her fall. In an effort to calm his own panic, he kept up a running stream of words and only stopped when he felt her shift against him. He looked down to see Juliette staring up at him through tear-filled eyes and he knew he had missed whatever she had said.

"What did you say?"

"You always caught me before."

D'Artagnan felt his heart pounding in his chest as he considered the child's simple comment. What had always been a game where Juliette leaped off her front step and into his arms was nothing like what had just happened. Unable to speak in response, he pulled her close again and thanked God he still had enough within him to save her. He silently prayed over her head that he would not fail next time. He knew better than to pray that there wouldn't be a next time.

Chantal slipped into a crouched spot beside him and allowed herself to breathe again. From above, she had been helpless to grasp the child as she had slipped. She had turned back to see her almost slide past her self-appointed guardian. The idea was horrifying as both of them clearly knew it would have meant certain death. She watched as d'Artagnan slowly pulled himself together, but he did not release his grip on the child in his arms.

"Perhaps this is a good place to rest."

As those still climbing from below slowly reached them, Chantal made sure they seated a little farther away against a rock ledge and instructed them to take a rest.

It was almost half an hour later when Yves began prodding the group to begin the rest of their climb. He had been keeping a watch on the valley below and so far hadn't seen any sign of red guards or musketeers for that matter. He was already wondering how likely it was that d'Artagnan's friends would find them, but for the moment, he was content with red guards not finding them. They needed to get up the slope and out of sight sooner rather than later.

Juliette looked at the rock face above her and bit on her lip. The fall had scared her badly and she was hesitant to begin again.

"I'm right behind you. You won't fall."

"What if …." The rest of the question stuck in her throat and Juliette would have chewed on her finger if it wasn't so filthy. Instead she fidgeted nervously until Louis pulled her close again.

"What if, what?"

"What if … _you_ fall?"

She may not know everything that the adults knew, but Juliette knew that something was very wrong with her friend and it scared her even more than the thought of falling back down the slope. If they just stayed put where they were, there was no way he could fall.

"I'm not going to fall. We are almost at the top and then we'll be on flat ground. You can't lose me that easily!"

It was meant to be reassuring, but Juliette gripped even tighter to his shirt. Her next words were muffled against his arm and d'Artagnan reached down to ease her face upwards. Tears glistened in her eyes still and he smiled to reassure her. For once it didn't seem to work.

"I lost Marie!"

The depth of her anguish would have seemed ridiculous except he knew it was about much more than a cherished doll. Everything she knew had been ripped away from her and she was left climbing some godforsaken rock in the middle of nowhere with a band of hungry refugees. The feeling of complete and utter helplessness threatened to crush him as he considered where they were.

"Marie is a musketeer, remember? Musketeers don't get lost."

"Really?" The small face that watched him intently looked so solemn that he almost laughed.

"Really! Captain Treville doesn't allow it." He felt a tug of something as he thought about how the captain had finally called off the official search for him when he was lost. He refused to allow himself to think about how long it would be before they were counted as lost this time and his friends would stop searching. It was really up to him to get Juliette home.

"Come on, we need to get moving and we'll be at the top before you know it."

Eventually the last of the group clambered over the lip of the rock face and dared to look back down at where they had come from. D'Artagnan found Yves beside him and was grateful when the man slipped an arm around his waist to steady him.

"Where to now?"

The question was quiet in his ear and he found himself wondering the same thing. The clouds in the sky had been darkening for the last hour or so and both of them knew they meant snow was imminent.

"We find shelter. And if we are really lucky, we find something to eat along the way."

"Berries might still be around if the cold hasn't finished them off yet."

Chantal had moved closer while he wasn't looking and d'Artagnan shook his head at his complete lapse in focus. He had always prided himself on being difficult to sneak up on and yet the woman had simply appeared in front of him before he even knew she was there.

"Good idea. But shelter first."

They really only had one direction they could move from where they were and d'Artagnan prayed that they would find somewhere to shelter for the night before it was too late. He knew he should be feeling the chill in the air as snow closed in on them, but his body told him otherwise. The pain in his leg was mercifully beginning to lessen and he waited for Juliette to pull her mittens back on, now that she didn't need to grasp hold of rocks anymore.

Chantal and Yves watched the young man as he absently wiped a hand across his forehead. The beads of sweat stood in stark contrast to the rest of them as they shivered in the cold air.

"Hurry up!" Chantal whispered, to nobody in particular.


	28. Chapter 28

**My profound apologies for making you wait so long. Real life bites sometimes. I promise I always finish any story and this will be no exception. Thank you as always for those who have stuck around for your kind words and messages.**

**Chapter Twenty Eight**

Voices floated around in the air as if they were caught in the fog. The night air had brought back the blanket of damp that swallowed everything into itself. D'Artagnan found himself having to force himself to concentrate to make out the words, but even then it was too hard. They were being whispered and he strained to catch them. His body seemed to have a mind of its own and refused to drag itself up off whatever he was lying on. A weight against his side told him that Juliette was sleeping beside him and he chose to ignore the voices and sink back into sleep.

Yves leaned back against a tree and glared into the near darkness. Hours had passed since they found the embankment and managed to pull some branches across as a rough kind of shelter for the night. He knew Chantal was right, but his promises weighed heavily on him as he had been forced to give voice to them.

"How much farther do you think he will manage? I can carry him for a time, but I'm not as young as him!" The anger in his tone was not aimed at her and Chantal knew it. She reached out a hand and grasped his wrist.

"I know. But …" the quiver in her voice betrayed her determination and Yves looked back towards her. There was barely enough light left to see her face, but the trace of tears was unmistakable.

"He made me promise!"

"He's half out of his mind! He has no idea what he asked you to do!"

"He knew exactly what he was asking me." Yves turned away as his own voice nearly gave out. "He loves that child and he knows he doesn't have much time left. See reason, woman. We have nothing we can do to help him, but we can get her to safety quicker and get someone back here to help him. If he has any kind of chance."

"I'm not leaving him out here to die. And I guarantee there is no way you will pry that child away from him even if you dared try!"

"You think I want to? God help me, I'm not a monster! But, he made me promise." The words trailed away as Yves felt the heat running out his bluster. He knew what he had promised to do, but he also knew there was no way he could carry through on it. He looked across their makeshift shelter and watched the object of their conversation sleeping restlessly.

"Where are those friends you seemed so sure of?"

* * *

Porthos shoved a final piece of dried beef into his mouth as he tied off the last of his gear. Athos was already atop his horse and looking impatiently into the distance. The first hint of sun was barely rising on the horizon as they pulled away from their camp. The chill enveloped them and Porthos pulled his cloak a little tighter around himself. Sometime during the night the first smatterings of snow had fallen. The ground had soon soaked it up and left a slushy mess in its wake. The horses seemed not to notice as they made their way along, but Aramis looked across at Porthos and both silently acknowledged their concern. They all had warm clothing and were still chilled. What did d'Artagnan and Juliette have with them?

Athos and Albert had barely spoken since rising and a kind of grim determination seemed to have set in as they traced their way along the route Athos had etched in his head. There was no point even trying for conversation when he was in such a mood and his friends simply followed closely behind him.

It was almost an hour later when they all heard the first screams. A bloodcurdling sound ripped through the air and they each spurred their horses on without pause for thought. The scream was suddenly cut short and the silence that followed was even more terrifying.

Albert felt his throat clench closed as he fought to keep himself in the saddle. He had demanded to travel with the group as they searched for his daughter and he had been determined to follow them if they had refused. For the first time, he began to doubt himself as he considered what they were riding into. His mind screamed at him that his daughter was already dead and he found himself clinging to the reins as if they were some kind of lifeline. Ahead of him, Athos urged his horse into a gallop and soon two shadows streaked past him. It wasn't that he had deliberately dropped back. It was just that he was nowhere near the horseman that the trio ahead of him were and he was afraid of being tossed from his horse if he pushed any harder.

As he rounded a bend in the trail, into a small clearing, Albert thought his heart may stop. Bodies lay strewn across the ground and all his mind could focus on was the blood. Somehow his mind blocked out the sounds of steel clashing against steel as his traveling companions morphed into soldiers before his eyes. Of course he had seen musketeers in the training yard, but he had never seen these same men swing a blade in anger. Each of them seemed driven by something he could not define and he stood gaping at them as if watching strangers.

Red uniforms flashed across his line of vision and Albert felt his head swimming in flashes of red. Blood trailed across the ground and his body froze in distress. His mouth refused to work properly as he tried to call his daughter's name. The sounds around him faded into the background as he stumbled forward. A hand clamped down on his shoulder and he spun away from him, raising an arm in a defensive posture before he even thought about it.

"Easy! It's me!" Aramis grasped at Albert's forearm, trying to forestall the man from searching the bodies ahead of him. His own fear got pushed beneath his concern for the desperate father before him and he prayed that he would not find what he was expecting to. "Albert! Can you hear me?"

Albert found his thoughts running amok and his body staggered sideways. His mouth still could not form a coherent word and his eyes raked across the ground before him.

"They're not 'ere!" Porthos' voice boomed across the open space as he raced from one body to the next. Fear drove his feet as he searched out two in particular. A glimmer of hope arose as he could not find the familiar mop of dark hair he was quietly praying not to find. "They're not 'ere!"

"Then where are they?" Athos' voice behind him made Porthos stop dead in his tracks. His moment of elation evaporated as reality sunk in. The prisoners were clearly running from their captors when they were slaughtered. He slowly turned around while casting an eye as far as he could. He had not missed any of the bodies. As he saw Aramis nudging Albert forward, he could not read the man's face. A mixture of fear and exaltation fought for supremacy as he stumbled towards where Athos had a guard pinned against a rock. His sword tip dug into the man's neck and Aramis was acutely aware of the control holding him in check.

"Where are the others?"

The guard gulped as he stared at the enraged faces around him. "What others?"

The tip of the sword moved a fraction and blood began to trickle down the guard's neck. "Don't play stupid with me." The low and controlled tone of voice did nothing to belie the threat behind the words.

Athos twisted the blade enough to draw a gasp of pain. "Your life is forfeit already. Give me reason to end it in severe pain and I will happily oblige. Now, where are the others?"

The guard swallowed as he tried to rein in his fear. "I don't know. We got to the collection point and there was chains all over the ground and dead guards. This lot musta killed them!"

Athos stared at the man, as though weighing his words. "This collection point – where was that?"

The guard thumbed a hand over his shoulder. "Back that way. We figured they was all down here."

Athos looked across at his friends and could see his own thoughts echoed on their faces. Albert looked around wildly, trying desperately to see where his child could be.

Athos pulled his sword back and slowly sheathed it. "We give these people a decent burial and then we head back up that gully."

Albert pushed his way forward, struggling to get his thoughts in order. "But he just said they aren't there!"

"If they aren't up there and they aren't back here, there's only one place they could be." Athos watched as the distraught father struggled against his own fatigue and slowly came to the same conclusion.

"They climbed out." A glimmer of hope reflected in his eyes as he looked around.

As Athos stepped back from the guard, he noted with satisfaction that the nick at his neck was bleeding freely. It was not a fatal wound, but the one in his leg was. He locked eyes with the man slumped on the ground and allowed himself a further moment of satisfaction as he read fear there.

* * *

It was well over three hours later that the exhausted group climbed over the crest of the gully wall and looked around for clues. Their horses had been turned loose below them as none of them had any idea if or when they would return for them. Precious supplies hung heavily as they slung saddle bags over their shoulders before climbing the rocky slope. It was nothing more than an educated guess that the rest of group, however many that may be, had clambered up the rock face to escape the guards behind them. It had not been voiced, but the question hung between them of why the group would split up.

"This way!" Aramis crouched in the soft dirt and pointed ahead. "Multiple boot prints. This way."

Albert hurried forward and knelt down beside him. He was no tracker, but even he could make out more than one set of prints. His eyes scanned the ground, frantically searching for smaller feet. For evidence that his daughter was still alive. When he found none, he forced himself upright and allowed Aramis to haul him onwards.

The night's drifting of snow had left a damp mark across the ground and had served to smudge any trail markers. It took keen eyes, driven by desperate need, to find the hints left behind. As the group pushed themselves forward, it was Albert who first spotted the makeshift shelter. The others were all focused on the markings on the ground, whereas he knew his skills did not lie there and was not wasting his efforts on something he could not do. Instead he had been scouring the landscape for any hint of his child.

"Over there!" He was running before he knew it and flung aside the branches as if expecting his daughter to be simply sleeping underneath it. His disappointment was almost his undoing and he staggered backwards. Aramis grasped at his arm to steady him before dropping to the ground. He ran a hand across the ground and pulled up onto his haunches. What looked to be simply a dark patch of dirt may have escaped his attention, if not for the wad of dirty, bloody bandage balled up against the edge of the embankment. He slowly looked up and rose to his feet without speaking. Nobody needed to ask and the group moved in unison as they made their way onward again.

* * *

D'Artagnan gripped at Yves' shirt and tried to control the tremor in his voice. "You promised me!" he hissed in anger. Pain rippled up the length of his leg and he barely caught himself before he cried out in pain.

"I know what I said. But you are not done for yet and I'm not leaving you behind yet." The anger in his eyes belied his fear as he struggled to keep his voice low. The child they were all trying to protect was too close and he had no wish for her to understand the point of their argument.

"I can barely walk! The snow began last night and will no doubt come again tonight. There is no food and only a dribble of water left. You promised me you would get her home. I'm slowing you all down and …. you promised me!"

Yves scrubbed a hand across his face as he considered the impassioned plea. The words were all true. And yet, he could not bring himself to leave the young man behind, no matter how well argued the reason.

"Do you honestly think that child is going to let us just leave you behind?"

D'Artagnan lifted his head to argue. It took far more effort than he would have admitted and he found the words stuck in his throat.

Yves shifted an arm around his waist and without asking, began to haul him to his feet. "We need to get moving. The sooner you stop arguing with me, the sooner we get her home!"

The words held an air of finality about them and d'Artagnan found his mind wandering to his father. The same sound of authority ran through his thoughts and he found himself complying without argument. A sword ground into his leg as he stood up and another pair of hands reached out to steady him from behind. Somewhere in the fog, he heard Juliette's voice, although he had no idea what it was she said to him.

The passage of time held no meaning as he forced himself to push one foot in front of the other. The small repetitive motion became the entire focus of his exhausted mind. What should have been a simple thing that required no real thought had become the most difficult thing he could imagine. Sweat dribbled into his eyes and he found it easier to just close them instead of fighting against it. His hands would not do the job anyway and his mind seemed to have taken leave of his body.

By the time his body slipped from Yves' grasp, d'Artagnan had no idea where he was anymore. He could have sworn he heard Athos calling his name, but that was just ridiculous, because Athos was miles away at the garrison.


	29. Chapter 29

**I'm so sorry for the delay in finishing this, but I'm getting there. Thank you for your lovely comments and reviews.**

**Chapter Twenty Nine**

"D'Artagnan!"

The ragged bunch had appeared in the trees ahead of them and instinct had taken over as Athos chased them down. He had been shouting his brother's name as he ran, expecting a response. While he could not make out faces, he could see several men ahead of him. One turned back towards him and he was momentarily shocked to see it was not a man, but a gangly youth. A couple of women screamed in fright as he charged towards them, but he ignored all of them, intent on finding just one face. Only a few paces behind him, he could hear Albert calling his child's name with similar anticipation.

"Papa!"

For all their words of faith at finding them, it was almost an unbelievable moment when Juliette stood up from the dirt and stumbled into her father's arms.

"Papa! You found us!" Sobbing quickly took over as Juliette flung her arms around her father's neck and he crushed her to him.

For his part, Albert could not manage to speak as he choked on the emotion welling up from the pit of his stomach. His beloved child was filthy and her clothes were shredded. Never in all her life had he seen her in such a state and yet at that moment he considered her the most beautiful child on the face of the earth. He rained kisses over her head as he allowed tears of joy to run down his cheeks.

The moment was cut short as Juliette slowly pulled back from him.

"Papa, Louis is sick." Albert looked at the distress written across his daughter's face and he glanced across to where the Musketeers were all suddenly gathered in a huddle. He had barely noticed the other prisoners as he scooped his daughter into his arms, but he felt his stomach lurch at the sight. He lifted Juliette up with him as he stood up and he felt her arms wrap back around his neck.

It was only a short distance, but the few steps felt interminable as he closed the gap. He had come to know the trio he had traveled with and knew that Aramis was the most open with his emotions. The look he saw on the man's face chilled him to the core. Albert stepped a fraction closer and gasped at the sight before him. He quickly tugged at Juliette's face and shifted her sideways, attempting to shield her from what she already knew.

Athos grasped at d'Artagnan's shoulder and pulled him closer as he kept up a stream of words. Albert watched as the man he had come to know as the least talkative of the trio, seemed intent on waking up his friend by sheer volume of words. He wrapped his arms around the young man and cradled him against him as Aramis ran expert hands over his patient. When it was clear that his leg was his only injury, Aramis leaned back and considered the wound.

"How long ago did this happen?"

Yves was crouched down across from him and he frowned.

"Two days ago. We've had nothing to tend it with since it happened." The edge of guilt in the Yves' voice barely raised a flicker from Aramis, but Porthos studied the man's face closely. There was something else there, but he could not decide what it was. He forced it aside as currently unimportant and returned his attention to Aramis. He knew his brother's mannerisms so intimately that it didn't need words for him to know just how dire things were. D'Artagnan was dying.

"I need a fire, hot water, rags … and …" Aramis' voice trailed away to a whisper as his speech reverted to Spanish. Porthos caught Athos' eye as both of them knew their brother was praying. Athos tightened his grip around d'Artagnan and prayed himself that they were not too late. His angry words, thrown at God all those days ago, came back to haunt him. Would God punish him for his audacity?

"Be merciful," he whispered into the matted dark hair below his chin.

Porthos had already gone for kindling to start a fire and Chantal was busy rummaging through the saddle bags looking for what Aramis would need. She was no herbwoman, but as a mother she had patched up her fair share of injuries. She was surprised to find bundles of dried herbs within the leather bag and for the first time she felt a faint glimmer of hope. The man tending to his friend had more knowledge than it appeared, if his supplies were anything to go by.

By the time the pot of water was boiling, Aramis was still debating what he would need to do. The wound was clearly infected as pus and blood seeped from underneath a barely adequate, but filthy bandage. He threw the rag into the fire, determined to remove any trace of the infection in whatever way he could.

"What happened to his leg?" Aramis glanced around at the faces nearest to him and found them all shaking their heads at him.

"We don't know." Yves looked at the young man who had saved them and frowned. "He forced one of the guards over the edge of the gully and when he returned, he was injured."

"And you didn't think to ask what happened to him?" The anger in Aramis' question was valid and both Yves and Chantal looked at each other. Guilt shone in her eyes as Chantal finally responded.

"Things happened so fast. We were suddenly free and we needed to get away. He kept insisting we could deal with his leg later and …" she swallowed a gulp of air as she struggled to continue. "And we had nothing to treat him with anyway. We … I suppose we were hoping we'd find help. Or that you would show up … like he said you would." Tears dribbled down her cheeks as she considered how poorly they had cared for the young man who had risked everything to help them. "I'm so sorry. We had nothing to help him!"

Aramis found his anger refocusing on the situation rather than the people around him and he nodded curtly. "Was the guard armed? Could he have been shot?"

Chantal nodded her head as the tears continued. "They all had pistols and muskets. When he dragged the guard over the edge, he … when he came back, he had a pistol and … I suppose it could be."

Aramis looked up to see Athos silently watching him. "I need to know if there is a ball still in there. The wound does not go through and it could be the source of the infection." Before he could ask for it, Porthos had already placed the edge of his dagger into the flames, in anticipation that Aramis would need it.

Albert scanned the faces around d'Artagnan and knew what was coming. He still held Juliette in his arms and knew that he needed to remove her from the scene. She had endured enough and he would not allow her to watch her friend being tortured. He could see Athos gripping just as tightly to the young man in his arms and felt a pain run through his chest at the sight. He had finally found his lost child, but at what cost? Would the lad that he considered as a son, pay the price for her safe return? He closed his eyes as he struggled to keep his emotions in check.

The scene in his bakery played behind his eyelids and he remembered the last words d'Artagnan had spoken to him before he disappeared.

_"You have my word, I will not stop until any threat against them is eliminated."_

Albert knew the world d'Artagnan moved in was sometimes dangerous, but a part of him had chosen to believe that with the might of the Musketeers behind him, nothing that bad could happen. As time has dragged on and both his daughter and her self-appointed protector had not been found, his weary thoughts had turned more fearful. As he considered what Aramis was about to do, he could not help but feel responsible. After all, if he had just gone to the authorities and not the Musketeers, none of them would have been caught up in this. But then his daughter may have been forced to endure alone. His heart was racing as he forced that thought aside and refused to listen to it. He could not deny that a part of him was relieved that d'Artagnan had been with her. Porthos watched as Albert moved away from the group with Juliette pressed tightly against his chest. The father had already swathed his cloak around her and Porthos nodded as he watched them go.

Aramis held the blade in his hand and hesitated. It was not like he had never gone searching for a ball in a wound before. Since finding the group and seeing d'Artagnan collapsed on the ground, his friend had not yet regained consciousness. Considering what he was about to do, Aramis felt that was perhaps a mercy. He locked eyes with Athos who nodded slowly at him. He held fast to d'Artagnan's upper body as Porthos leveraged himself against the leg Aramis was about to go to work on. Yves held his weight against the other leg as Aramis edged the tip of the knife into the wound. The pungent odour of infection wafted up as he prodded deeper into the reddened and puckered hole. He forced himself to keep digging, praying that he would not find any lead within the wound.

Suddenly he heard a groan and d'Artagnan began to buck against the hands that held him down. His eyes shot open and Aramis noted the mixture of pain and confusion that glared back at him.

"Let me go!" Athos pulled at his shoulders as d'Artagnan struggled against him. Aramis held the blade in the air and tried to get his friend to focus on his face.

"D'Artagnan! It's me! Aramis."

Either the words had not registered or the pain was overriding them because d'Artagnan continued to struggle in Athos' arms.

"Juliette! What have you done with her?" Fear underscored the anger and Athos rushed to reassure him. Before he could, d'Artagnan was still trying to force himself upright.

"I'll kill you! Where is she?" The last of his reserves seemed to drain away and d'Artagnan suddenly slumped back against Athos, his breath coming in heaving bursts.

From deep in the treeline, Juliette heard the screams and her name being called. Images of Red Guards flooded her mind and she screamed in response.

"Louis!"

Albert dropped onto a log and cradled his child up against him, while somehow trying to block her from hearing the commotion behind them. Juliette was trembling in fear and he could only imagine what was going through her head.

"It's alright, mon chéri. It's alright. "

Juliette lifted her face to watch her father and frowned at his words. "They are hurting him! Papa, why are they hurting him?"

Albert brushed a hand against his daughter's cheek to wipe away the tears and he smiled gently at her. "Remember what your mama has to do when you skin your knees? She has to wash them and get all the dirt out. It bleeds and you cry sometimes, but Mama has to make it better?"

Juliette considered the words and frowned at the memories.

"It hurts when Mama does that for you, but afterwards, it gets better."

When Juliette didn't speak any further, Albert continued on. "Louis has a bad wound in his leg and Aramis has to clean it before it can get better."

Juliette sucked on her lip as she thought about the idea. "And then he will get better?"

Albert had seen the wound when Aramis first lifted the bandage. His heart had sunk as he considered just how bad it looked. He kissed the top of his daughter's head before he smiled down at her.

"And then he will get better!" As Juliette snuggled back into his chest, he raised his eyes skyward.

"_At least I pray he gets better!"_

Aramis watched with relief as d'Artagnan gave up the fight to stay conscious and sagged against Athos. He slowly prodded at the wound once again and when he got no response from his patient, he dug deeper. Eventually he concluded that either the wound was not the result of being shot, or somehow d'Artagnan had removed the ball himself. Either way, there was no lead left in the wound and was not causing the infection. Judging by the dirt along his breeches, Aramis had already surmised the wound had not been cleaned in any way.

Athos could feel d'Artagnan's heart pounding wildly as Aramis did what he must. Despite sitting still in the frigid air, he was not cold and he could feel the heat radiating off his friend's back. By the time Aramis was done with cleaning the wound and wrapping a herbal poultice into place, Athos felt physically exhausted. Emotions crowded for his attention and he pushed them all down until he could deal with them later. Or not at all. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he watched Aramis move about and his mind began to wander.

"Athos? You hear me?"

Athos startled out of his thoughts as he saw Porthos crouched in front of him.

"I said, we're going to scout out the area. See if we can find any shelter for the night."

"Good idea."

Porthos looked at him with concern, but kept his mouth shut as he rose to his feet.

Yves was busy dragging further timber onto the fire and stoking it up. Aramis reached for the water pot he had used before and set it to boil again. Even though he could not name them, Athos recognised the small pouches of herbs that Aramis had laid out. He was making something for both the pain and the fever. Athos glanced down to see that d'Artagnan was still soundly asleep against him and he felt both relief and worry. Aramis' poking and prodding at the wound should have awoken him again. The dark circles under his eyes betrayed his need for sleep and for the moment, Athos was content to allow him to sleep, somehow trying to convince himself that the young man he held in his arms would come through his ordeal unscathed. The alternative was just not an option.


	30. Chapter 30

**Thank you lovely readers for your encouragement. I'm sneaking in writing time where I can. Enjoy!**

**Chapter Thirty**

Odette slipped into the room carrying a tray that she knew would not be touched. Still, she had to try. As the hours turned into days and the days melted into what felt like months, Margaux looked increasingly ill. Odette noted how very quiet the house felt without its smallest occupant and she bit on her lower lip to stop it from trembling. Her mistress needed her to keep her emotions in check. As she settled the tea tray on the side table, she tutted softly at the state of the fire. When she had stoked it earlier, she had hoped that Margaux would at least pay attention to it. The wood had burned lower and the embers were turning black in the grate. The chill in the room matched the mood of the mother who sat staring into the distance, seeing visions that only she could see.

"I pray that my baby is not cold."

Odette caught the whispered prayer and nodded in solemn agreement. She almost found the tears falling as she noted that Margaux held her child's coat in her hands. Juliette had been wearing a coat when she left the house, along with a scarf and mittens. As Odette glanced out the window at the light flakes that fluttered to the ground, she shivered in spite of herself. Without stopping to think, she crouched down in front of the woman she considered a second mother and rubbed at her knee.

"He will make sure she is warm."

It seemed that Margaux had not heard her until she slowly nodded. Nothing further passed between them as Odette poured a cup of tea and pressed it into Margaux's hands. She could not bear to see the pain in her mistress' eyes and she hurried from the room, muttering something about checking on supper. As she forced herself to walk into the kitchen, her bravado finally gave out and she sank to the floor near the stove and allowed the tears to fall. In spite of her faith in the young man who carried all their hopes, he was, after all, just one man.

* * *

Porthos stared at the rabbit he held in his hands and began to skin it without really stopping to think about it. It was something he had done so many times that he reckoned he could have done it in his sleep. By the time he was done, he had a small pile of meat ready to begin turning into a stew. He noted the hungry stares from a few of the prisoners and he thought he may have to fend them off from grabbing his meat until it was cooked. The idea made his stomach turn as he considered his friend had been amongst that group. Their ill-treatment made his blood boil and he had to focus on the task at hand to force his anger back down. A fair fight between two men he could deal with any day. Even when the odds were less than ideal. But when somebody mistreated women and children, well that was a whole other story. Memories of his encounter with Bonnaire stirred in his mind and he found himself frowning in anger. What right did any man have to treat another as a possession?

Behind him, he could hear Aramis talking to Athos and he strained to hear the words. The small rock overhang that he had discovered was not as good as a cave or a dwelling, but beggars could not be choosers and he knew that d'Artagnan needed whatever shelter they could provide. He glanced across to see where some of the others were gathering supplies of firewood and he nodded in approval. The light dusting of snow that had been falling all afternoon was no doubt going to increase. As he concentrated on gathering the pieces of meat for the pot, he tried to rein in his wandering thoughts. Now was not the time to borrow tomorrow's trouble and he needed to focus on one thing at a time. They had found the rest of the prisoners, despite their fear that they would find a second massacre site. Both Juliette and d'Artagnan were alive and, by the grace of God, would stay that way.

Suddenly a loud moan of pain drew him out of his reverie and Porthos spun around, forgetting all about the rabbit in his hands. He saw Aramis lurch back towards where he had left his patient resting. He dropped to his knees in one fluid motion while simultaneously pushing d'Artagnan back to the ground. Another moan had Porthos on his feet and before he knew it, he was standing over Aramis, listening to his words of comfort that seemed to flow so easily. Athos was crouched on the other side, staring helplessly as d'Artagnan groaned again and bucked against the hands that held him down.

_Flashes of red darted through the trees and he struggled to keep his focus on where they were coming from. Somewhere behind him, Juliette was hidden in the treeline and he prayed that she would stay put. Her natural inclination was to wander and explore and he fervently hoped that this was one time that she would not. As he looked around in the foggy terrain, he caught a glimpse of her. Dark curls bounced wildly as she ran and he felt his heart chase its way up into his mouth. Somebody was closing on her. He looked around again and saw that it was a Red Guard that was gaining ground on her. The look of terror on her face was all the impetus he needed to spring from behind the tree and push his way forward. Tree branches slapped at him as he pushed onward and he found himself trying to force his way through. All too soon, the guard caught up with Juliette and he found himself shouting threats that seemed to stick in his throat._

"Let her go!"

Aramis held both hands firmly against his friend's shoulders and watched as his face distorted in anger.

"I swear I'll kill you!"

The words came out in a hiss and Aramis felt the matching tension flowing beneath his hands. It didn't take much to guess what was going through his friend's fever-addled mind.

"Easy there. Juliette's safe with her Papa. You kept her safe." Aramis watched as Athos tried to calm the situation in the only way he knew how. His tone was soft, but commanding, although he had no idea if the words were sinking in.

D'Artagnan fought against the hands that tried to restrain him as he attempted to sit up. Raw agony ripped down his leg and he found himself falling backwards, into darkness.

"Let me go!" The demand came out almost as a whimper.

"Never!" Athos whispered as he grasped at the flailing arm that swatted weakly at his chest and held tightly to it. As the last of d'Artagnan's strength failed him, Athos eased him back down to the ground. Aramis already had a dampened rag ready to wipe away the beads of sweat across his face and Porthos watched helplessly as their friend sank back into oblivion.

Aramis reached for the poultice he had tied in place earlier and began to unwind the strips of bandage. He frowned as he noted the blood underneath it and his eyes betrayed his concern.

"He's opened up the wound again with all that thrashing about."

"Here, you'll be needing this to clean it up again."

Aramis looked up in surprise as Chantal came towards him, carrying a pot of boiling water. It took a moment to realise it was the pot that Porthos had been readying for his rabbit stew and he smiled in response. It would save precious time and he nodded in appreciation of her foresight. Supper would have to wait while he once again tended to his patient's wound.

Albert came back into the small shelter, carrying an armload of firewood. He had deliberately taken his daughter on a wide path in search of sticks. His heart lurched as he saw the activity at the back of the overhang and he heard Juliette's strangled whimper beside him. As much as he wanted to shelter his daughter, he knew that she had already been exposed to too much and she was too inquisitive not to know something was very wrong. Before he could stop her, she had flung her small armful of sticks aside and was making her way towards the commotion. He dropped his bundle of firewood and hurried after her. He wasn't quick enough to shield her from the sight of blood-soaked bandages on the ground and she stumbled against his leg.

Chantal stepped into her line of sight and Juliette stared at the fabric of her skirt instead.

"Why don't you come and help me to prepare that rabbit for our stew?"

The question was more of a demand as Chantal nudged at the child in front of her and began to steer her away from the awful sights behind her. Albert nodded gratefully as he grasped at his daughter's shoulders. Juliette was trembling under his hands and he rushed to remove her from where she may hear anything further. It struck him as strange that there were no further sounds of pain coming from within the ring of musketeers and he found himself wondering if that was a good thing or not.

By the time Porthos returned with the cooking pot and refilled it with water, Chantal had all the components ready for the rabbit stew. Somewhere in her wanderings for firewood, she had come across enough root vegetables to flavour the stew and bulk it out. In time, the aroma began to drift across the small enclosure and the huddled groups of bodies began to anticipate their first solid meal in far too long. Albert poked at the fire with a stick as he sat with his daughter wrapped safely in his arms. She had not said a word since he had dragged her away from watching Aramis at work and her silence worried him. It was most uncharacteristic of his daughter to be quiet for any length of time while ever she was awake. The world simply held too much that captured her imagination and she was happy to share her insights and discoveries with anybody.

Silence seemed to have taken over the whole world as Albert looked about him. Perhaps it was the steadily falling snowflakes that muffled the normal noises. Or perhaps it was just that each of them seemed to be holding their breath, waiting to see what would become of the young man who lay bundled up in the back of their make-do shelter. With limited utensils and bowls to divvy out the stew, Chantal decided on giving it out to groups instead. As she handed a bowl to Albert, she was shocked to see Juliette staring blankly and completely unaware of the first hot meal she had been given in days.

Albert dipped a spoon into the meaty stew, grateful beyond measure for the man who had gone out and caught the rabbits to feed them. That same man stood awkwardly off to one side, holding a bowl of his own stew in his hands. Porthos would normally have been the first one to set to on a bowl of hot stew, but something kept him from feeding his hunger. Instead he slipped over and dropped down beside where Athos was seated. He pressed the bowl into his friend's hand and nodded forcefully.

"You need your strength. Eat."

Athos blinked at him, as if not really seeing his friend before him.

"What?"

"Eat! 'e needs you at your best, not fadin' away to a shadow."

Athos stared at the bowl in his hand and found his stomach churning in turmoil. He knew that he could not bring himself to eat anything and he tried to hand the bowl back. After all, Aramis would not eat while ever he was preoccupied with tending his patient.

"Not a chance! You've still got a fight on your 'ands and 'e needs you."

As always, Porthos had a way of getting to the heart of things without too much in the way of words. It was one of the things that Athos loved about him, as he could not abide the verbal dance of the courtiers and rogues. He stared into the bowl and heard the truth of his friend's words. D'Artagnan had a hard fight ahead of him still and there seemed very little left of him that could rise to the challenge. As Athos lifted the spoon to his lips, he prayed that he could carry the battle for him. As he swallowed the tasteless food that cloyed in his throat, he steeled his resolve to win the fight or die trying. There was no way he was leaving this cave without his friends by his side.

All of them.


	31. Chapter 31

**Thank you lovely people. You give me the impetus to keep going and I love hearing from you.**

**Chapter Thirty One**

Treville leaned against the railing and stared into the empty space before him. He had stopped wearing the sling that Aramis had insisted on, but the wound still nagged at him. He allowed a small grimace to cross his features as he realised once again that he wasn't as young as he used to be and injuries seemed to take just that much longer to heal. His thoughts drifted off to consider where his medic might currently be and whether or not the trio had found their friend. His eyes began to refocus as the first flurry of snow drifted across his line of vision and he barely checked a shudder. As he looked down into the courtyard he could see the men making preparations for the night and he frowned before turning back towards his office door. Another night would pass before he had any news and the wait was grating on him.

* * *

Albert pushed himself up against a sturdy rock and shifted Juliette against his chest. He had managed to get a small amount of food into her before she had simply clamped her mouth shut. He knew from experience just how stubborn his only child could be and he knew it was not defiance that was causing her behaviour. She had simply reached the end of her endurance and she was coping in the only way she knew how. He wrapped his arms a little more snuggly around her and began to consider how best to bring comfort in the midst of chaos. Across the way a little, he could hear the sounds of fever-induced ramblings and he wished once again that he could somehow muffle his daughter's ears. When she awoke from a bad dream, her mother would hold her safely and sing a song until his daughter stopped shaking. He wished fervently that he could sing as Juliette would eventually start singing too and gradually bring Marie into the ensemble.

Suddenly Albert pushed himself upright and Juliette shifted awkwardly against him. He cursed under his breath at his own forgetfulness and he rushed to reassure his daughter as he shifted her off his lap. She was almost asleep before he jolted her awake and she grumbled a little as she slid to the ground. Albert ignored it as he knew what he was doing would soon stop any complaints. He hurried across to where Porthos had stacked the saddlebags and he rummaged through them until he found what he was searching for. As he pulled the beloved doll from out of the bag, he couldn't contain a smile. He imagined the voice of Marie that Juliette often used when playing with her, deploring her rough handling and the indignity of being carried upside down in a smelly leather pouch. He licked a finger and smoothed at her ruffled hair as he hoped fervently that she would provide the comfort his daughter so desperately needed. By the time he returned to where he had dropped his child, Juliette was fully awake and staring at him in shock. Tears dribbled down her cheeks as she saw what he held in his hand and Albert crouched down in front of her.

"She has missed you," he whispered as he gathered his daughter back into his arms and settled against the rock once more. Chantal found tears tracking down her own face as she watched the child she had come to care for, finally find some semblance of normality. Juliette clutched Marie against her chest and it wasn't long before Albert felt her breaths even out and settle into a deep rhythm. He smiled over her head at the woman who had taken care of his child and he prayed that she would soon be reunited with her own children.

* * *

Porthos pushed a few more logs onto the fire before glancing around. The few travel blankets and cloaks they had were scattered around the area as the bedraggled group of prisoners huddled under them. His meal of rabbit stew had been heartily welcomed and the scoops of snow he'd managed to melt had provided enough water for the entire group. It was the one blessing in the change in the weather as he hadn't scouted any other water supply in the area. He watched the sparks flitter in the air as he shoved another log onto the flames and allowed himself a moment of escape. Fire had always been mesmerizing to him and he could easily get lost in its secrets. The sound of a deep groan forced him out of his reverie and Porthos pushed himself up onto feet. As he stepped towards the back of the shelter, he could see Aramis rubbing a hand across his own face. It was a gesture of frustration and he forced down the fear that crawled its way up his throat.

Another groan was followed by an arm flying wildly through the air. Athos grasped at his hand as d'Artagnan appeared to be wielding a sword. It would have earned a chuckle and a slap on the back of the head if he had actually done such a thing for real, as it was a sloppy thrust. Athos felt the heat in the hand as he clamped his fingers around it, but what concerned him even more was the lack of strength.

Aramis dipped a rag into the bowl of water and began to wipe it again across his friend's face. No sooner had he finished than beads of sweat formed again and he continued, hoping that what he was doing would somehow bring some relief. He managed to keep his facial expression neutral, more for Athos' benefit than anything else. He'd recleaned the wound and wrapped it in a clean dressing, but he was still a long way from certain it would be enough. The ragged edges were bloated and swollen with infection and he knew that there was no way he could stitch it closed just yet. If he did, infection would build up behind the stitches and he might as well have issued a death certificate to his friend. The signs of infection streaked down the muscle and he had to force himself not to check the dressing again. As he dipped the cloth into the bowl once more, he found himself whispering the well-worn words of a prayer under his breath. He had no wish to alarm anybody else, but he knew that God could hear him just fine. He just wished he was a better man and could rightly hope for God to honour his prayers.

Athos felt his stomach clench each time d'Artagnan moaned. It was clear the young man could no longer hear any of them and his words seemed useless and empty. He had always loathed the life of a courtier where he was expected to have a word for every occasion, but on this occasion he felt as if he had been struck dumb. It seemed only yesterday that he had watched his friend struggle back from the brink when he had been almost lost to them. The idea that they had come so close still awoke him at night and there were times he would stumble from his bed and refuse to lay his head back down again. The memories tore at his insides and he could not find enough wine in the whole of France to drown them out. D'Artagnan had struggled to find his way back through his fractured memories, but persistence had paid off. It still bothered Athos that his friend had been forced to relive traumatic memories as if experiencing them for the first time and he had felt helpless as d'Artagnan grieved for his father all over again.

Another low moan drew him out of his thoughts and he realised he was still holding d'Artagnan's hand firmly in his grip.

"Don't you let go of me, you hear me?" He knew the words were falling on deaf ears, but he didn't care. He needed something to reassure himself. "Because I won't let go of you!"

Suddenly the moans gave way to an intense groan of agony and he felt the hand dragging away from him. D'Artagnan arched against the ground and his head dropped listlessly as another groan escaped his lips. Before he even knew what he was doing, Athos had shuffled forward and pushed himself in under the small gap available to him. He tugged at d'Artagnan's upper body and pulled him across his chest before wrapping his arms around him. The movement drew another groan and muttered words that he didn't want to hear. He felt the heat radiating against his chest, in stark contrast to the frigid air around them. He reached forward and pulled the cloak up around them and ignored whatever it was that Aramis was saying to him. He was in no mood to argue his actions and had no wish to explain himself. He wasn't sure that he could, as he seemed to be acting solely on instinct.

Aramis knew that Athos wasn't listening to him and he held his breath as he watched one friend drag another into his arms. D'Artagnan groaned again and he began to push against Athos' hands. His eyes were fluttering open and closed, but his gaze was unfocused and unseeing. Aramis felt the weight of helplessness crash over him as he knew there was nothing he could do to stop what was happening. He felt, rather than saw Porthos crouch down beside him and a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"What do we do?"

The words floated in the air and Aramis just stared at his patient as if he had not heard them.

"Aramis?"

The tone was more insistent and he shook his head slowly. He could not bring himself to actually answer as it just confirmed his inadequacy.

_The guard had caught him! The plan to take the man over the edge had worked, but somehow the guard had gotten the jump on him. He fought desperately to get out of the grip that pinned him to the rock face, but he could not break the vice around him. His worst fear was manifesting as more guards crowded into his peripheral vision and he knew he would be dead in minutes. Rogue Red Guards would not hesitate to kill a musketeer who caused them such grief. He kicked out at one of them and felt a lightning bolt pin his leg to the ground. He heard them shouting at him as the smell of ozone and seared flesh overpowered his senses and he sank into the darkness again. _

"Hold his legs still,"Aramis finally found his voice as he saw what was about to happen. D'Artagnan kicked out at Porthos and he knew that enough movement would cause the wound to bleed again. He cursed the fact he could not stitch it closed and prayed that he could still the young man instead.

Athos held fast to his upper body while Porthos laid claim to the lower half. It seemed like a tug-of-war that would produce no winner as d'Artagnan's body fought against itself. Suddenly the battle came to an abrupt halt and the body Athos clung to went limp against his chest. For a moment, he feared the worst and looked up desperately to where Aramis was checking for signs of life. He slowly released a pent up breath as Aramis nodded slightly. He reached for the bowl and cloth behind him and began once again to wipe his friend's face. Porthos had not released his determined grip and he suddenly looked sheepish as he considered his posture. He slowly moved back a little and settled on his haunches as he watched what Aramis was doing. As he looked up, Athos was speaking something over the top of d'Artagnan's head. The look on his face was full of pain, but Porthos knew the words would be full of encouragement.

"Stop fighting me. Please, stop fighting me. I'm not giving up on you and all you need to do is draw on my strength. I won't let you fall. I promise."

Athos closed his eyes as he considered his own oath. If d'Artagnan fell, it would only be because Athos had fallen first.

From where he sat, leaning up against the rock, Albert could see most of the commotion. He felt Juliette shift in his arms as she awoke and he tried to wrap the cloak higher around her face. She may not have known everything that was happening, but she had clearly seen enough along the way to know some of what was happening. She looked up at her father and frowned at him.

"When I'm sick, Marie makes me feel better."

Albert felt his chest constrict as he knew what his daughter was going to suggest. He did not want her anywhere near the scene that was playing out and he rushed to forestall her.

"He is asleep now and we don't want to disturb him, do we? Perhaps when he is feeling a little less sleepy, we could loan him Marie."

Juliette seemed to consider the merits of the suggestion before slowly nodding and slipping back down against her father. As she drifted off again, Albert found he could not sleep. He had no idea what his daughter would do if her friend did not survive his ordeal.


	32. Chapter 32

**Well, I had a day off so I caught up on some writing. Thank you so much to those who are still following along and for your comments and messages. We are almost finished, I think.**

**Chapter Thirty Two**

Corbyn watched as one of the musketeers fed sticks into the coals and stirred the fire into life again. He shuffled closer in an attempt to warm his extremities and the big man smiled at him.

"Mornin'," Porthos nodded as the boy emerged from the shadows.

It barely qualified as morning as far as Corbyn was concerned as the first rays of the sun had not quite made their way over the horizon. He smiled back as the man placed a pot filled with snow up against the flames. Breakfast was on its way, and as if on cue, his stomach growled. It seemed to have been doing that a lot lately and he frowned at the ground.

Porthos noted the change in the boy's body language, but could not see his facial expression in the pre-dawn light.

"Just warmin' some water. Along with warmin' myself!" He smiled as he spoke as the child in front of him seemed somehow skittish. It didn't surprise him really, when he considered he was probably only ten or eleven. Despite his height and gangly limbs, the boy's features betrayed his youth. "What's your name, lad?"

It took a moment before he got an answer, but when it came, he felt himself stiffen as something tugged at his memory.

"Did you just say, Corbyn?"

"Ahh, yes, sir." Corbyn shifted back a little, as if he was in some kind of trouble.

Porthos reached out a hand to steady him before continuing. "Is your father's name René, by any chance?"

Corbyn lurched forward involuntarily at the mention of his father. He found the words stuck in his throat as he recalled his last sight of his father. After the guards had dragged him away, he was certain his father had been murdered. Tears rolled silently down his cheeks as he stared at the man in front of him.

Porthos gently pulled the boy into the light of the fire and nodded as he considered the similarity of their facial features.

"Reckon your father's gonna be right 'appy to see you again."

"He's alive?" The question was the barest whisper and Porthos nodded while grinning at the boy.

"Sure is! And he's waitin' at the garrison for us to bring you back." He grabbed at the boy as he swayed on his feet and eased him down to a sitting position. "Why'd you think 'e wouldn't be?"

"The guards! They took me and threatened to kill both of us. He tried … he tried to fight them off, but … well there were too many of them." The final words faded away in a muffled sob as the boy wiped his sleeve across his face.

Porthos clapped a hand on his shoulder as he smiled again. He didn't need to trouble the boy with the fact his father was currently imprisoned at the garrison, but once they got back, he was sure that could be cleared up and dealt with too. Assuming Treville was in a forgiving mood, of course.

The conversation petered out as Corbyn seemed to drift off with his own thoughts. Porthos lifted the warmed water out of the flames and headed towards where Aramis was. He heard the muffled groans before he got there and he felt his heart clench in his chest. He was no medic, but he knew things were not improving. The freezing overnight conditions were not helping and he knew they needed to get d'Artagnan somewhere warm. The question was, where?

As Porthos crouched down, he held out the pot of melted snow. They needed to get fluids into d'Artagnan and he watched as Aramis dipped a clean cloth in the water before dripping it into the lad's mouth. Reflex took over and d'Artagnan swallowed the precious liquid before Aramis squeezed a few more drips in. It was a slow, but necessary process and Athos simply held tight to keep d'Artagnan from shifting too much.

"We need to get 'im out of here." Aramis looked up as Porthos spoke and slowly nodded.

"I agree. The bleeding has stopped and I'll put another poultice on his leg shortly. He needs better care than this!"

Porthos patted his friend on the shoulder. "After we eat, I'll head north. Find that village and get some help."

Athos glanced across at the bodies beginning to stir as dawn broke through at last. "Take them with you. We have a responsibility to get them to help as soon as possible."

Porthos looked around and shook his head. "I can travel faster without 'em."

Athos was about to protest when Aramis intercepted his objection. "He's right. They will only slow him down. They are safe here with us for the time being. We have enough rations for a short time."

Athos found himself torn between his duty to his injured comrade and the civilians they found themselves responsible for. He swallowed hard before nodding at the two of them. As he was about to speak again, d'Artagnan shifted under his hands and began to mutter something. Without thinking, he reached out a hand to brush the hair off his face and leaned forward.

"Porthos … hurry!"

By the time Porthos set off to find the nearest road, he was relieved to see that Yves was his only company. The leatherworker assured them that he knew how to handle a pistol if need be, but not a sword. The pistol tucked into the back of his breeches brought small comfort as the duo jogged off into the crisp morning air.

* * *

Juliette leaned up against the backboard of the wagon. The heavy cloak that she was wrapped in effectively limited her range of motion and her feet were beginning to go numb from lack of movement. She shifted sideways and pulled her legs up against her chest, while the prickly sensation of renewed blood flow made her want to scratch at her legs. Instead, she wrapped her arms around her knees and hugged them tightly. Her father walked alongside the wagon and kept one hand on the side of it at all times. Next to her, Athos was also leaned up against the backboard. He held Louis wrapped just as tightly in his arms and she smiled shyly at him. He seemed focused on something else and didn't smile back, but she didn't mind. As long as he kept hold of Louis, she knew he would be alright.

Aramis glanced up to the sky and frowned as he noted the darkening clouds. Snow was coming again and they needed to find somewhere to stop for the night before it hit. When Porthos and Yves returned from the village with one horse and a wagon that had seen better days, he had barely managed to hold himself in check. This was not what he had in mind by better care for his patient. Surprisingly, it was Athos who had made the decision to set them back on the road. Everything in him told him that d'Artagnan needed warmth, rest and time to heal. Instead, they were dragging him back to Paris in the back of the wagon.

It was his fault.

If he had just been able to put up a more convincing argument, Athos would have taken them to that village and stayed put until d'Artagnan was well enough to travel. If he had just been a better liar. Or less readable by his friends. The truth was, he had no idea if the lad would get better. His leg was slowly poisoning the rest of his body and the infection had him firmly in its grip. No matter how tightly Athos held on, he could not guarantee it would be enough. The bleeding had stopped at last and the decision was made to bring the rag-tag group home as soon as possible. What was not voiced, but completely understood by all three of them, was that they needed to bring d'Artagnan back to Constance while they still could. Before …. before …

Aramis scrubbed a hand across his face and stared at the road ahead of them. Never had a road seemed so long.

* * *

By the time the snow began to fall, Juliette was almost asleep. The motion of the wagon had rocked her steadily for hours and the exhaustion she felt washing over her was finally taking its toll. As her head dropped against her chest, she felt Marie slipping from her fingers and she unconsciously jolted upright. The air around her was frigid and she grasped at the edges of the cloak, before tucking Marie back into her scarf.

Across from her, she watched as Athos seemed to be nodding off as well. It took a few minutes for her to realise he was not sleeping, even though his eyes were closed because his lips were moving slightly. Panic welled up in her as she watched him and something made her decide to shift closer. From the moment she had been snatched in the alleyway, Louis had been no more than an arms length away, ready to protect or comfort her. Then suddenly he had been gone and Chantal had stepped into his shoes. Even though nobody believed her, she knew he would come back for her, because he had told her so. When he had miraculously reappeared from the fog, she wanted nothing more than to be back within the safety of his embrace. It suddenly occurred to her that she had not been near enough to touch him since he collapsed after their long climb. The sight of Athos praying scared her for some reason and all of a sudden she could not contain herself. She shimmied out of the heavy cloak and edged across the small space to where Athos held Louis in his arms. She didn't think she had made any noise, but Athos' eyes jolted open and he lifted a hand towards her before he realised it was her. Juliette cringed as if he were about to strike her and Athos suddenly dropped his hand as a strange look crossed his face. She hesitated a moment before sliding closer again. Athos watched her, but said nothing as she reached out a hand to touch Louis' face. As she looked up at Athos, she could not decipher the strange look he gave her. It seemed as if he was about to cry, but she knew better than that. Musketeers didn't cry.

Athos watched as the child stretched out mittened fingers and brushed them against d'Artagnan's face. His heart felt like it was going to pound its way into his mouth as he considered what he had almost done to her. He had been so absorbed in his thoughts and desperate plea that he had not heard her approach. She had startled him and he cringed as he remembered how she had flinched away from him. Never in all his life had he struck a child and he felt sick at the thought.

Something about this particular child struck him as extraordinary and he smiled slightly as he watched her face. She loved with all the energy that only a child could muster. He watched as she tugged at the length of her scarf that was somehow entangled inside her coat and he wondered what she was doing. Suddenly all was revealed as she pulled Marie out of the tangles. The little doll had been all but forgotten about in the depths of a saddlebag and he nodded in approval as he saw what she was doing.

Aramis kept walking alongside the wagon and watched as Juliette tucked Marie into d'Artagnan's hand and curled his fingers back around her. He would have cheered if his friend could have sensed what was happening and gripped the doll for himself, but he knew that wasn't going to happen. He forced on a smile as Juliette looked up at him. Athos had once described Juliette as his guardian angel and Aramis knew that his friend needed all the help he could get. He would gladly welcome a bit of divine intervention, in whatever form it came.


	33. Chapter 33

**I think I've got my mojo back! One more chapter to go and it's almost finished, so this saga is coming to a close at last.**

**Chapter Thirty Three**

Two days.

It might as well have been two months. Athos felt that time had slowed to a standstill as the entourage made its way towards Paris. Their pace was agonisingly slow as the wagon rattled across the muddy road at the same pace as those who were walking alongside it. Athos wanted to unhitch their single horse and take his precious cargo and ride for all he was worth. He was almost beyond caring about the others who journeyed with them as none of them was close to death. None of them seemed to hover in some kind of netherworld between life and death. If Aramis had not already said that d'Artagnan was better off in the wagon than on the back of a horse, he would have already done as he had planned.

For two days he had clung to d'Artagnan and refused to let him go. He had helped as Aramis peeled back the poultices in a desperate attempt to stave off the infection. He watched as his brother trembled with fever and muttered words that nobody could decipher. He had prayed harder than he had ever prayed in his life, while all the while a nagging voice of doubt nibbled away at him, telling him that his own show of defiance was being paid out right before him. He felt helpless and furious and determined, all in the same moment. Not to mention, exhausted.

Two days.

Porthos had kept them fed as he took little side trips to flush out whatever game he could or whatever fish he could pluck out the streams. With the water beginning to ice over, the fish were slower moving, but it also meant that Porthos often returned needing to stay close to the fire and rewarm himself. Hastily prepared trail food was supplemented with the supplies they had brought with them and Athos noted it was being rationed a little tighter than it had been at first.

The former prisoners could not walk as fast as Athos would have wished and his frustration was barely simmering below the surface. As they took turns in riding the tail end of the wagon, or the seat near the driver, he found it was all he could do not to glare at them. None of it was their fault, but in the absence of the practice yard where he could vent his frustration, or a bottle of wine to drown the anger, he found himself hard-pressed to keep his thoughts to himself.

It was late on the second day when Aramis found his divine intervention arrived in the unlikely form of a coach. They watched as it appeared on the road behind them and Aramis stepped into the road as it came near. Depending who was inside, they could very well just continue on and ignore them. Aramis hoped that the coach driver could recognise his uniform and would at least stop to hear what he had to say. As it turned out, it was the passenger who recognised him.

"My darling, Aramis! You look positively dreadful!"

Aramis found himself unable to contain a grin as he stepped toward the carriage door. Nobody else would recognise the comment as anything other than an observation. He knew it carried far more than concern. It was a playful reminder of another day, when the woman inside the carriage had insisted on bathing him. On that day, she had declared he looked positively dreadful as well, just before dunking him under a mountain of bubbles.

He bowed before looking up into her lovely face once again, relieved that he knew he could ask for help.

"Madame Dufour, you have no idea how pleased I am to see you." Before she could make any kind of suggestive comment he cut her off by stepping closer to the door. "My friend is gravely ill and I would appreciate your help in hastening his travel to Paris."

It took quite some effort to carry d'Artagnan across from the back of the wagon to the relative comfort of the carriage seat. He barely murmured as they wrapped a heavy cloak back around him and propped his head against a delicate and ornate cushion. Aramis settled on the seat across from him while Madame Dufour brushed an errant tear from her face. Athos felt his heart racing as he could see there was no more room in the carriage and he nodded quickly at his brother.

"We'll see you in Paris." The limited words spoke volumes.

Save him.

I expect to see him alive when I get there.

Aramis nodded as he pulled the door closed and the carriage began to move off. The weight of expectation upon him was enormous, but not near as heavy as the weight of fear that settled back over him. Behind them, Athos and Porthos helped some of the women into the wagon before setting off again. Albert opted to carry Juliette as the two of them watched the carriage pick up speed and move out of sight. His daughter once again clutched at the doll that had fallen from limp hands and been abandoned in the wagon.

* * *

Constance waited to the side of the room and strained to hear what was being said. It was only a few hours earlier that a musketeer had ridden into the palace and sought her out. The man thrust a piece of parchment into her hands and its contents had almost been her undoing. He had been instructed to escort her back with him to the garrison, but he had been surprised when she had appeared at the stables with a man in tow. The same man now stood with Aramis and the look on both of their faces terrified her. It took a moment to realise that someone was speaking to her and she looked up to see Treville beside her. He frowned at her, aware that she had not been listening. Instead of speaking again, he took her by the elbow and steered her towards a chair. She moved almost without realising she was moving. The room around her seemed surreal and the conversation could not possibly be happening.

"Thank you for bringing Doctor Lemay with you."

Constance looked up at the Captain's comment and tried to muster a smile. The words that Aramis had scrawled across that note had almost stopped her heart from beating in her chest. How could she not bring the good doctor when it seemed that Aramis had lost hope?

"He was happy to come. I just hope it isn't too late for his services to be of any use."

Treville nodded at her, but found the answer stuck in his throat. He had seen the carriage roll into the garrison gate and he had half groaned at the thought some courtier was there to complain about something one of his men had done to cause offence. There was little other reason for such a fine carriage to be on his doorstep and he had steeled himself for the inevitable confrontation. The shock of seeing Aramis clamber down from the carriage had jolted him into action and he had hurried down the stairs to greet him. The man looked a wreck and Treville knew that he was not coming home bearing good news.

As he looked across the room, he noted that the two men seemed to have come to some kind of conclusion. He squeezed Constance's hand as the two of them moved closer.

"I won't lie to you," Lemay began nervously as he looked around at the faces before him. "His condition is grave and I don't know that there is much more that I can do that Aramis hasn't already done."

Constance felt her insides crumbling as her fears were confirmed. Tears glistened in her eyes as she looked past the three men. Without waiting for anything further, she stepped around them and sat down on the side of the bed. The man she loved looked like a shadow of himself and she frowned as she noted how gaunt his face looked. Dark circles under his eyes looked like bruises and the sheen of sweat betrayed how chilled his body was. Oblivious to the men in the room, she leaned down and brushed a kiss against his forehead.

"I don't care what they say. I am _not_ losing you. This is _not_ how things will end between us. Do you hear me? If you leave now, I will _never_ forgive you!"

Aramis smiled, in spite of his fatigue. They had all been on the receiving end of a tongue lashing from Constance at some point. D'Artagnan had received several that he knew of and probably more that they knew nothing about. He had known for some time that his friend's fate was in God's hands and he had no objection if Constance gave God a helping hand.

"I think you need to get some rest, my friend."

Aramis looked surprised at the comment and began to shake his head. Treville stepped forward and Lemay was pleased to see he was not going to have to fight the battle alone.

"I agree. Go and get cleaned up and get something to eat. The doctor will be here while you are gone. You can get some sleep over there and still be nearby." Treville pointed to the bed behind them as he spoke.

Aramis began to object when he suddenly realised how truly exhausted he was. He had done everything he knew to do and yet his mind had continued to churn even when he tried to rest. Hearing Lemay confirm his actions brought a measure of comfort, but he still felt as if he had not done enough. He would not be assured until he saw his friend open his eyes and know where he was.

* * *

Odette heard the determined knock at the door and she hurried from the kitchen to answer it. She knew that Margaux would not have heard it as she was sound asleep in her room. It was good that she was asleep as the night before had been a restless one. More than once, Odette had heard her mistress pacing the floor of her room and the nighttime anguish had caught up with her late in the afternoon. As she pulled the door open, her heart caught in her throat. A musketeer stood on the doorstep and for a second she had thought the impossible had happened. The hair was the right colour, but the height was wrong.

"I'm looking for Madame Boulanger. Is she in?"

Odette nodded. "She is, but she is indisposed. May I give her a message?" Fear shone in her eyes as she dreaded the words that were coming next. Instead, the young man before her began to smile.

"Captain Treville sent me to inform her that we have found Juliette. She is on her way back to Paris with her father."

Odette could not contain the scream that rolled out of her and she hugged the man who had delivered the news they had waited so long to hear. As she stepped back from him, he grinned at her.

"Thank you! Oh mon dieu! Thank you!"

Margaux hurried down the stairs in time to hear Odette's words and she almost tripped as she ran. Was she hearing correctly? Odette turned at the sound of footsteps and rushed to embrace her mistress.

"They've found her! She's coming home!"

Margaux sank down onto the step beneath her as her whole body was shaking. The promise her husband had left her with was being delivered on. Her hand hovered over her mouth and she found herself unable to speak. As the young musketeer turned to leave, she realised she had not asked after Charles. By the time she found her voice and managed to rise from the stairs, it was too late.

* * *

Aramis lowered himself down onto the bed, content in the knowledge that both Constance and Lemay were nearby. He watched from his pillow as Constance continued to wipe d'Artagnan's face with a damp, cooling cloth and he smiled at the look on her face. If ever his brother had a reason to fight, it was right there. He trusted that Constance would get that message across and she had no need of his help. For the first time in days, he drifted into sleep with a measure of hope.

* * *

Porthos chewed on a piece of dried beef as he walked. It had been agreed that there was no time to stop to hunt or forage and with the group so near to Paris, their travel rations would be sufficient to get them there. He had no wish to spend any more time on the trail than necessary and they had only stopped to allow the horse to rest. Each time they stopped, they would build several fires and the group would huddle together to rewarm themselves. The snow fell intermittently and did little more than make for a slushy and slippery trek. Corbyn was taking his turn riding on the wagon and he had been observing Porthos for some time. The other musketeer frightened him with his intense gaze, but Porthos intrigued him. Finally he mustered up the courage to ask the question that had been nagging at him.

"Why would anybody want that leather shoulder strap you all wear?"

Porthos looked up at the words and frowned. He hadn't really been listening and he wasn't sure he'd caught the question.

Corbyn tried again. "Why would somebody take your shoulder strap? What's so important about it?"

Porthos flicked his cloak back and pointed to his pauldron. "You mean this thing?"

Corbyn nodded. "That woman … she seemed pretty insistent about taking d'Artagnan's from him."

Porthos stopped walking and stared at him. "Woman! What woman?"

Corbyn shrank back from the intensity of the response and licked his lips before speaking again. "Back in Paris, before they loaded us on wagons and took us away. She came and took it. She seemed to know him and she was really nasty about it."

"Describe her for me." Porthos had moved closer to the wagon and Corbyn didn't like the look on his face.

"Dark hair. Really beautiful. Fancy clothes."

Porthos looked across to where Athos was walking and knew that his friend had heard the exchange.

"She wanted it for bait." Porthos leaned forward and clapped Corbyn on the shoulder. "But you, my boy, have just given us the means to catch a rat!"

Athos continued walking and said nothing in response, but Porthos knew by the set of his shoulders that he had heard.


	34. Chapter 34

**There seemed to be a thousand loose ends in the story and I hope I tied them all up satisfactorily. I can't believe a sequel ended up twice as long as the original story, but this just seemed to have so much to tell.**

**Chapter Thirty Four**

By the time the wagon rumbled down the street towards the garrison, Athos was surprised to see a small crowd of people gathered around the gate. It took a while to register that Aramis would have told Albert's family their good news and word would have quickly filtered out. Families who had lost loved ones had gathered in hope that their family member would be returned or at least their fate could be explained. Torches lined the area and the flurry of snowflakes would have looked pretty at any other time. For the moment he could not be bothered with anything that delayed him from seeking out Aramis. Even as a man lunged out of the shadows and he heard Chantal squeal with joy, he could not muster any interest. Family reunions that would have warmed his soul on another day were barely registered. There was only one reunion that he cared about.

Porthos pulled the horse to a halt just inside the garrison gate and he watched as helping hands appeared out of the gloom. Musketeers rushed over to greet the wagon and before he could even ask, one of them pointed Athos in the right direction. As he hurried away, he missed Corbyn looking around expectantly for his father. After all, Porthos had told him has father was at the garrison. When he couldn't see him anywhere, he sought out the musketeer who had promised him hope and demanded an answer.

Aramis heard the door latch lift and he moved quickly towards the door to open it. As Athos strode through the doorway, he smiled in greeting. He raised a finger to his lips and Athos glanced toward the bed. Constance was stretched out along the side of the bed and her head rested on d'Artagnan's chest while her hand was wrapped firmly around his waist. As Athos moved closer, he was relieved to see his brother was still breathing steadily. He blinked away the shimmer of tears that threatened before pulling a chair alongside the bed. As much as he wished to gather the young man into his arms once again and reassure himself that his heart was still beating, he settled for leaning closer and brushing the hair off his face. The heat under his fingertips seemed less than when they had parted and he looked up hopefully at Aramis.

Aramis smiled at the unspoken question. "Don't ask me how, but yes, he is improving. Slowly. Constance got Lemay here when we first arrived and we finally managed to get that wound in his leg properly cleaned. He actually stitched it closed this morning."

Athos knew enough to know what an achievement that was. Aramis would never have stitched closed a wound that still held the pus from infection.

"Has he woken up yet?"

"No. We are in two minds about trying to wake him and allowing his body to rest and regain his strength. He needs nourishment, but we have only managed to get a little water into him so far. "

Athos understood the concern that had not been spoken and he frowned in response. He also heard the relief in his friend's tone when he mentioned the joint decision-making. Out on the road, the burden had rested solely on Aramis.

"How long can he go without food?"

When Aramis didn't answer, he was about to ask again, but was interrupted by the door opening again. Treville stepped inside followed by Albert and Juliette.

"They wanted to see d'Artagnan before they head for home."

Albert slowly stepped forward and he smiled encouragingly at his daughter as he nudged her forward as well.

"I told you that Aramis was taking good care of him. We just need to let him sleep now and get better. He has a lot of friends here to make sure he gets well." The words echoed his relief and the hope he had been holding onto since the carriage had pulled away from them.

Juliette rubbed at her eyes as she nodded at her father's words. She wasn't sure who the lady beside him was, but Louis obviously cared about her or she wouldn't be there. Something about her and the way she hugged him made Juliette feel a little better and she slowly reached inside her coat to retrieve Marie.

Albert smiled at her as he took the doll from her hands. He looked across at Aramis as he handed the doll to him and hoped the man would understand his words and the intention behind them. "You left in such a hurry that you left Marie in the wagon. We will take her home once our friend no longer needs her."

Aramis smiled at Juliette before nodding. "Perhaps Marie is also a nurse as well as a musketeer. She certainly seems to have a positive effect whenever she is around."

Constance stirred as she heard voices in her dreams and she listened as she battled to open her eyes. The heartbeat beneath her cheek felt stronger than it had when she went to sleep and she smiled to herself. If it was a dream, she had no wish to wake up and find it was not so. It was a few minutes later that the voices slowly moved away and she hoped they would just leave altogether and allow her to resume the dream she had been pulled from.

* * *

Treville knew he was on thin ice, but nothing would stop him from delivering the report. The truth needed to be exposed, even if it cost him his position. He had chosen to leave Corbyn and his father outside while he addressed the King and was pleased with that decision as he noted the King's fury. It wasn't unreasonable that the man would react in such a fashion, given the fact he had been made to look a fool by a treacherous woman. Treville had chosen his words very carefully as he laid out the whole sorry saga from beginning to end. He had intentionally kept the woman's identity to himself until he had a chance to give all the details, in anticipation that the King may cut him off prematurely if he knew the truth about Milady. He noted that the Queen had not said a word and her face was unreadable. He could only imagine how she must have felt to be vindicated at last. Not that that could possibly make up for the humiliation that she had endured over the time Milady had been ensconced in the palace, he reasoned.

René sat on the bench and stared at his son, as if he would disappear at any moment. In all the days he had been held imprisoned at the Musketeer garrison, he had not dared to hope for such an outcome as this. He fully expected that his son was dead as he had failed to do what was demanded from him. His son's life was forfeited for his failure and he had never felt such shame in all his life. The moment when Treville had walked in and his son had followed in his wake was etched in his memory for life. He would never forget the sheer relief that flooded his body and his knees had almost given out on him as he grasped at his son. It was a small response for him to speak before the King, in return for what the Musketeers had done for him. He had expected to spend his final moments at the end of a rope and instead he's been given a new chance at life with his son. He reached a hand to grasp at his son's wrist and was alarmed at the look on the boy's face. He looked up to see what had his attention and he nearly lurched to his feet at the sight of the woman being escorted to the door. If it were not for the two musketeers that flanked her, he would have reached for her throat and strangled her. The look of contempt on her face as she recognised him made his blood boil. He noted his son shrinking from her and he lifted his arm to wrap it around his shoulders.

"She can't hurt you again, son."

Behind her, another man strode confidently towards the door and ignored them both as he followed through into the room. The door closed behind the group and René found himself unable to sit still. He began to pace impatiently and only stopped when he saw Treville emerge from the doorway some time later. The look on his face was unreadable as he gestured for them to follow him and it wasn't until they reached the outer courtyard that the man began to speak. It was almost as if he thought the walls had ears and he needed to keep a secret.

"The King believed what we had to tell him and he agreed that you were coerced into your actions. He issued a pardon for your crime and you are free to go."

René swallowed hard and stared at the man who had just given him back his life. "That's it? You mean it's all over?"

"For both of you, yes. It's all over."

René misunderstood the bitterness in the tone and he hurried to apologise once again. "I didn't mean it quite like that! I'm truly sorry for what I did to you and I'm just grateful that I am such a poor shot!"

Treville stopped walking and clapped a hand on the man's shoulder. "If I had a son such as yours, I would do everything in my power to protect him too. You had no choice and I accept that. The best way you can repay me is to get back to your life and not let her win."

René glanced across at his son and smiled. "Thank you, Captain. I intend to."

Treville watched the father and son head off down a side alley and he felt the suppressed anger rising once again. The King had listened and acted on what he had proven. Milady had barely managed to slither out of the palace with her head still attached to her shoulders and he shook his head at the wisdom of that decision. Of course, the King's mistress hanging from the gallows was never a good look and it was only political considerations that had saved her miserable life. What irked him even further was the fact that somehow Rochefort had come out looking like the victim of a character assassination and had stepped a notch closer to the King in the process. He had been appointed with finding the details of all those responsible for trafficking in human lives and putting a stop to it. Treville had already decided that he would do his own investigating as discretely as possible as too many of Rochefort's own men were involved.

The Captain shook his head as he resumed his walk back to the garrison. The only positive in the whole mess was that his men were all accounted for and Juliette had been returned safely. He just hoped it would suffice to smooth over his men's anger when he explained what had just transpired. He was glad of the walk as it gave him time to clear his head and shake off the feelings that clung to him. There were times his thoughts came close to treasonous and he would not give full rein to them. The smirk that Rochefort had bestowed on him as he left the King's audience would just be the start of things. He brushed a hand across his face and pulled his shoulders back as he walked. Tomorrow could be dealt with tomorrow, he decided. For today, he would celebrate the wins.

* * *

Constance smelled the aroma of something as soon as the door swung open and she quickly opened her eyes. Athos smiled at her as he carried in two bowls of whatever Serge had sent across. She lifted herself slowly off the side of the bed and swung her feet to the floor. Athos couldn't help but notice that she never completely disconnected herself from d'Artagnan and he nodded in approval. As he handed her a bowl, he hooked a foot around the leg of a chair and drew it closer to the bed before sitting down on it.

"How's our boy this afternoon?"

Constance smiled at the affectionate term and looked back towards the bed. "Well, I'm not sure he'd like you calling him a boy!"

Athos smiled at her as he went to spoon a mouthful of stew into his mouth. "Probably not. But if he wants to argue about it, he needs to wake up and do so."

"He seems stronger. Aramis says the fever is dropping and the infection is improving. Doctor Lemay came past earlier, but I think you saw him already."

Athos nodded as he continued to eat. He was grateful the man had seen fit to care for his friend and reinforce their belief that Aramis had done everything possible. He knew that Aramis had second-guessed himself for days and he was pleased to be able to help put his mind at rest.

As the two of them continued to eat in comfortable silence, he noticed movement behind Constance. She felt it too and turned to finally see what she had prayed fervently for over the last few days. She quickly slipped the bowl onto the floor and tentatively reached out with both hands. As she slipped her hands alongside d'Artagnan's face, she smiled at him before leaning forward.

"Welcome back."

Athos held his breath as d'Artagnan slowly lifted a hand to wrap it around her wrist. His eyes seemed clear for the first time since they had found him. They roamed slowly across her face and Constance leaned forward to kiss his forehead. Athos almost laughed, as he considered how that kiss may have gone if he were not in the room.

"Water." The word was barely a whisper. Athos hurried to fill a cup from a pitcher of water and pressed it into Constance's hands before reaching out to slide his hand under the back of d'Artagnan's head and lift him up. She eased the cup to his lips and he drank for the first time in days.

"Easy. Not too much or you'll be sick." As he eased his friend back against the pillow, he frowned at the beads of sweat that had pooled along his hairline. The small effort had clearly cost him dearly.

D'Artagnan closed his eyes and tried to stop the room from swimming and he felt Constance's hand stroking the side of his face. It brought a sense of calm in the midst of his storm and he leaned into her hand. Suddenly a wave of fear crashed over him and he jolted awake again.

"Juliette! Where is she?"

Athos clamped a hand on his chest and smiled. "Rest easy. She's at home with her family. You got her home safely."

The look of panic in his eyes began to fade and the effort of the last few minutes began to take their toll. The last thing he saw before his eyes slid closed was Constance smiling at him while her eyes shone with unshed tears.

* * *

D'Artagnan watched as Aramis twirled Marie between his fingers. The doll seemed to have the uncanny knack of turning up everywhere and he wasn't sure how she had come to be tucked into his bed, under the blanket. Aramis had teased him about her, but he was pretty sure his friend had been talking to her when he had awoken earlier. Of course, Aramis had flatly denied such a thing and told him that he was still delirious. Constance had laughed at both of them and refused to be drawn on the topic or take sides. He waited before letting on that he was awake again and was rewarded with proof that Aramis did indeed talk to Juliette's doll.

"Well little breadcrumb, you sure earned your keep this time."

"Breadcrumb?"

Aramis startled at the voice beside him and turned to see that d'Artagnan was silently laughing at him. He grinned as he realised he'd been caught out. Constance sat down again on the bed and brushed a hand across d'Artagnan's unruly hair.

"Yes, breadcrumb! It's what Athos called her when we found her in that stable they held you in before moving you out of Paris. It was our first real piece of proof that they had you and gave us a starting point to track you."

D'Artagnan stared at the doll and frowned as a memory hit him. "Juliette was distraught when she realised Marie was missing."

"Speaking of your guardian angel, she should be here soon. It's a good thing you decided to wake up or I may have needed to get Constance here to scold you again." He grinned at the look that earned him and barely ducked far enough back as she swatted at him.

It wasn't long before the door opened and Athos ushered in Juliette's entire family. Aramis was still holding Marie and he hastily handed her over to d'Artagnan, but Porthos noted the exchange and bit back a laugh.

Albert lowered his daughter to the floor and watched as she slowly crossed the room. Her face betrayed the depth of emotion churning within her and she hesitated a moment before d'Artagnan held out an arm to her. It was all the encouragement she needed to run the rest of the way and he pulled her up onto the bed beside him. As she buried her face against his chest he could feel the warm tears soaking into his shirt. He pulled Marie from underneath his arm and lifted Juliette's face until she could see the doll.

"Thank you for letting me borrow Marie. She helped me get well again."

Juliette reached out a hand and grasped hold of the doll before wrapping her arm back around her friend's neck. Constance leaned against the wall and smiled at the child who so clearly adored the man she loved. If Juliette had been much older, she may have felt a tinge of jealousy because it was clear the feeling was mutual.

Margaux followed her daughter and reached out a hand to grasp at d'Artagnan's hand. Tears pooled in her eyes and she tried to smile through them.

"Thank you seems like so very little after what you did." She reached a hand up to cover her mouth as she swallowed back a sob and Albert wrapped an arm around her waist. As she leaned back against her husband, she found the tears began to flow in earnest and she turned to lean into him instead. Odette hovered behind them and found she could barely contain the mixture of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. Voicing her thoughts was out of the question and she slipped away to lean against the door.

D'Artagnan found his strength was once again giving out on him and he yawned in spite of himself. He wanted to stay awake and enjoy the reunion, but his body would not co-operate. His eyes slipped closed of their own accord and it was Aramis who made the call as he soon began to shoo everyone from the room.

'There'll be plenty of time to catch up again soon, but for now he needs to rest."

Juliette held onto Marie, clearly debating if she was still needed. Aramis crouched down in front of her and smiled. "I think you need to take her home now and give her a bath. She's got a lot of travel dust on her and her hair needs some care too. After all, a girl has to look her best." He winked at her as she nodded before slipping Marie back inside her coat.

As Aramis closed the door on the last of the group he turned back to see his patient smiling at him through half open eyelids.

"Are you sure you can sleep without Marie? You know, you two seemed pretty close."

"I'll have you know we are just friends!"

Aramis smothered a laugh as he noted his friend's sense of humour resurfacing.

Friends.

As d'Artagnan began to drift into sleep again, it felt good to know he was once again surrounded by friends. There had been too many long nights where he had thought he may never see any of them again.

As Aramis headed over to pile another few logs onto the fire, he lifted his crucifix to his lips and smiled.

"Thank you," he whispered into the flames. He was still staring into the fire when the latch lifted on the door once more. He did not need to turn around to know who it was.

"Porthos is escorting Constance back to the palace?" It was more of a statement than a question as Aramis already knew the Queen had summoned her back and it would fall to one of them to ensure her safe return. He wasn't surprised that Porthos had chosen to do so and send Athos back to d'Artagnan.

Athos nodded as he moved in to warm his hands by the fire. "She'll be back in the morning, no doubt."

"No doubt."

Aramis watched as Athos headed over for the chair and pulled it up alongside the bed once more. He leaned his chin on his fist and stared as d'Artagnan slept soundly. It was the first time in days that his sleep wasn't broken by fevered ramblings and Athos felt his chest constrict in gratitude. It seemed that somewhere, somehow, he had done something for God to grant his request. He slowly reached out a hand and began to brush the hair off d'Artagnan's face. His hand lingered as he felt the skin was almost back to a normal temperature.

"You certainly chose the long road home, didn't you?"

Aramis had moved over to stand behind him and he smiled slightly at the words.

"I don't suppose you know what day of the week he was born on."

Athos looked up at the odd comment and shook his head.

"What?"

"Nothing." Aramis smiled in response at the expression on his friend's face. "Just something I once heard somewhere. But if I had to guess, I'd say it was a Thursday."

* * *

_Epilogue: Marie is currently soaking in a bubble bath while having a manicure. She is not amused with her treatment over the course of this story and has declared she will not be back for any further adventures. One review suggested a sequel down the track about the wedding of Juliette and d'Artagnan and if I ever write that, Marie may be coaxed out of retirement. Until then, she is not taking my calls. I think it may have something to do with her figuring out that we didn't actually get paid anything so her contract was rather pointless. Oh well, such is the fickle nature of fame! Thank you soooo much for sticking with me as this story grew legs and ran away from me. I can't believe my sequel outstripped the original story. I have no further stories in the pipeline at the moment and that's probably a good thing, since I have no time to write them anyway. Thank you for your enthusiasm, comments and for making me laugh along the way. Writers on this site are fed on reviews and they certainly spur us on. I truly appreciate you all and if I couldn't respond personally to a review, thank you!_


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